The truth is this:

I'm just going to admit it. Put it out there into the void. Because I feel like if I put down on paper (or, in this case, on blog) it becomes real - no longer a whispered secret or a nagging thought.

My infatuation with Perfect Boy Whom I am Infatuated With is merely that: an infatuation. I want to know him. I want to be his friend. He's an interesting creature. The truth is this: Perfect Boy Whom I am Merely Curious About is a cover-up for the truth.

I am in love with someone else and I am terrified.

There. Now it's real.

All my love,

Addy

This post is all truth. For the most part.

In case you are the type who is curious, I just thought I would clarify: Perfect Boy Whom I Love, is, in fact, perfect. The day he was born, the doctors were so taken aback by his beauty and intelligence and smashing sense of style (he began dressing himself in the womb, so don't even try and fight me on this one) that they called in a group of scientists (a Frenchman, an American, the Queen of England (she was a scientist in her past life), the Pope (his case is the same), a German, an Italian, and a Russian). They gave him scores. The scores were based upon attractiveness, sense of style, ACT score, ability to time travel, and amount of time spent with his nose in a book/newspaper/the like. Frenchman: 10.00. American: 10.00. Queen: 10.01 (she's the Queen, so she's allowed to do that). The Pope: 10.01 (his case is the same). The German: 10.00. The Italian: 10.00. The Russian: 08.52. (They discarded the Russians score. It was so obviously biased.) Eventually, they came to the agreement that, although he seemed perfect currently, they could not actually proclaim him The Most Perfect Boy Ever To Grace Our Humble Planet until he smiled. So, the entire team of scientists (minus the Queen (she had a country to watch over), The Pope (he died - of natural causes, so don't worry), and the Russian (no one liked him; he was too obviously biased - he could've at least hid it better)) followed him around until he smiled his first genuine smile. It was in the third grade. They all cried, on account of, he was obviously The Most Perfect Boy Ever To Grace Our Humble Planet.

This post was all truth. Except for the part I made up.

Put dirtballs in your pocket and take off both your shoes.

All my love, Addy