A semi-depressing blog...

Every girl wants to be special. I've said that what has to be at least one hundred times to different people. Every girl wants to be special to some person.

I think this goes doubly for me. To be normal, standard, everyday,"one-of-many" would kill me. I suppose that's why I'm jealous of people with more diverse backgrounds than I. There's nothing there that makes me stand out, I'm just a regular English/French/Russian Jew and I look it. I can sing pretty well. But I know that there are those better than I am. I can be funny and entertaining at times, but I'm nothing spectacular. Perfectly normal. Perfectly average.

He made me feel special. He made me feel like there was something about me that no one else had, something that...I don't know. Something that made me stand out. And I was happy knowing that somewhere, someone cared for me. Someone thought about me every now and then and wondered how I was doing. Someone wanted to talk to me more than they wanted to talk to any one else. I was special because they could tell me things they couldn't tell anyone else and they wanted to spend time with me and wanted to make me smile.

He was special. I could talk to him. There seemed to be nothing that we couldn't discuss, and we would talk for hours and the conversation wouldn't get old; religion, relationships, family, school, people, futures. He was special because I've never really had someone that could both tell when something was wrong with me and get me to talk about it in detail. He was special because he understood me. He had a smile that I couldn't help but smile along with. He made me want to be a better person; when he chastised me it only hurt my pride for a moment and then caused me to become motivated. He was special because he actually cared.

I guess I wasn't special enough.

It hurts a lot. It's bittersweet to hear him talk now - he talks about the people he talks to and how wonderful his life is. On one hand I'm happy he's happy; he deserves to be happy, he's an amazing person. But on the other it hurts realizing that I didn't do anything to affect his happiness when he was here. I think he told me he missed me once, in his very first e-mail, and then nothing. And I guess I feel pathetic becuase I still miss him, three and a half months after he left. There are still times when I want to go on a walk with him and just talk.

I feel like a burden to him, like I'm cramping his style. In my mind I imagine every time I call he looks at the caller ID and rolls his eyes, wondering why I'm calling him again. Or worse, that when I call he doesn't care either way. That to him I'm just another girl. Another one of his friends in La Grande that he might think about calling if he gets bored when he comes home. That there was nothing special about me in the first place.

I'm just normal, standard, everyday, "one-of-many". Average. Insignificant.