The Crush

This poets short story follows a young writer's thought patterns when dealing with the stresses of school and a crush.

Do you ever have that moment where you just need to type something? It’s not for someone or for a class, but you just need to type the weird stream of consciousness you have. I do. That’s what’s happening right now. Just letting my fingers type and my mind flow. It flows from my crush, to school, to the Games Night coming up, to PSATs, to stress, to calm, to pain, to sorrow, to insecurities, to confidences, to my crush again. It always flows back to him. I don’t know why it does. Why is it that my crush connects my streams of consciousness? Is it the way his bright eyes sparkle? Is it the calming effect of his deep voice? Is it the warmth of his hugs? Is it the good advice he gives? Is it his power to make me smile? Could it be my knowing he will never think of me the way I think of him? How can another human make me feel this way? He’s just human. He isn’t a perfect angel or a god. He’s just a boy. He’s a boy that I like and care for a lot. Why must I feel this way? Why must his voice narrate every thought and feeling that flows through my stream of consciousness? Why can I feel his touch without him there? Is this some sort of trick being played on my heart and mind? Why must my mind make a normal person seem so glorified? Why must it drive me to madness? It makes me feel lonely, unworthy, useless, and unwanted. It makes me question myself. Why am I the way I am? Why do I look this way? Why do I act this way? What can stop the flowing of my ever-flowing stream of consciousness? Let it dry up, never to run again. Or let this pollution of a simple crush filter away.  Leave me be, Love! All you do is turn my beautiful stream of consciousness into a muddy creek! Out, Love! You are unwanted! Unneeded! Useless! You drive me to madness, Love! Yet you let me feel the warmth of his touch, see the sparkle of his eye, and hear his calming voice… Why must something so sweet drive me to madness of this proportion? Is it the same way my insecurities cause me to think of my confidences? My strength, my confidence, my bravery, my cunning, my caring, all of them greet me with a smile. Pride lifts me onto his shoulders. Joy showers me with happy thoughts. Caring hugs me tight. But Fear is next in line. She pulls me close, covering me in darkness. She leans in close and whispers, “You’ll never get better.” “You’ll fail.” “Why do you look like that?” “You will never have someone like him; you don’t deserve someone like him!” I crash to the ground. This crush… It’s crushing me…