Now that I’m in college, I’ve come to a realization. High school is lame. There was too much homework, the cafeteria food tasted like it had been expired in the freezer for too long, and everybody was a jerk. Except for him. One of the many unattainable jocks I fell for over the grueling four years. When I look back at my high school days, those silly crushes stand out in my mind. Such innocent idolization. I wish I could feel like that again. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized that nearly every girl had that unrealistic fantasy about that amazing guy when they were younger. Don’t get me wrong; I’m so tired of this unrequited love crap. But some people have no clue how it feels to be an unnoticeable, slightly awkward girl in high school. I decided I wanted to document how my naive brain fell for him, Mr. Perfect, so everyone could read it and connect to it in the most embarrassing way. Regardless of your sex or gender, you now get to walk in the shoes of a lovesick teenage girl (or at least my experience as one). Picture this:

You and your best friend are sitting on the bleachers waiting for the pep rally to start, which, in all honesty, makes you want to burn a varsity jacket rather than “Go, Fight, Roar." As you’re gossiping about Miss Popular’s all too revealing homecoming dress, you spot him. The most popular boy in school waltzing across the gymnasium floor, making it shine like it had just been mopped with oil soap. Acting like he owns the place because…well, he does.

You catch your breath and hold it for fear that the slightest sound will give your invasive eyes away. But how could you ever have the power to look away? There was just something about him. The way his golden blonde hair was combed back. The way his blue eyes would crinkle when he laughed at a cheesy joke. The way his tan skin glowed like a Grecian god (are you cringing yet?). He was perfection…everything you will never be. Everything he would never want.

Your friend keeps talking as your eyes linger for too long, daydreaming of a universe where he would save you a spot next to him on the first row of bleachers and put his muscular arm around you, pulling you close enough to smell his obnoxious, yet intoxicating Abercrombie & Fitch cologne. But instead, you’re slouched in the back with binders and notebooks on your lap next to your Drama Club friends, the smell of Axe and desperation in the air.

He began playing football his sophomore year. You were just a tiny freshman then. Every teenager goes through their preppy phase and he was in the midst of it now. He hadn’t grown into his pop star persona yet, rather he had the shaggy Bieber haircut and wore Hollister. He wasn’t on anybody’s eye yet, not even yours. You didn’t even know his name.

He began playing varsity his junior year. His impressive athletic skills had gotten him some attention. He was slowly making his way to becoming the star player. He had cut his hair shorter and his clothing style was evolving. So were his group of friends. His “fan base” was expanding and you began to notice.

His senior year had finally arrived. Everybody who went to the school knew his face and name. Puberty had done him so well. His blonde hair was combed and gelled back and he wore dress shirts and bow ties. He was a sexy hipster, a modern-day Jay Gatsby. Except nothing about him was phony. What you saw was what you got. And you wanted it all. After three years of high school, you knew everybody but nobody knew you. Even though you had been in multiple plays and variety shows, people still had to ask you your name when they approached you. It never really bothered you but it made for a bad situation with him. He had a reputation. A beautiful face. A memorable name. He would never see you or know you. And you deserved that. He was on a pedestal that you could never amount to. He was above you and you lived with it.

He’s walking down the hall, smiling and laughing with his friends. Girls are swooning, but he doesn’t notice a single thing. The crowds of people seem to part like the Red Sea so he can grace the floor with every step he takes. He’s walking directly towards you and your heart is racing. Should you look down? Should you smile at him? Should you say hi? Or should you turn around and run away as fast as you can? For some odd reason, your hopes are high and you decide to smile at him. He looks up and sees you, a strange girl drooling like a dog who smells bacon.

He’s supposed to scowl with disgust. He’s supposed to pretend he never saw you. He’s supposed to brush past you and act like you don’t even exist. But he smiles back. And your insides feel like marshmallows that had been plopped into a mug of hot cocoa. Warm, melted and sweet. He passes you and you’re smiling so wide that your cheeks begin to hurt. Nothing will ever be this good ever again, you think to yourself. And that’s it. That’s when you know you’re hooked. And once you’re hooked, you can’t escape.

You begin spending time in class, imagining what it would be like to drive in his car, a single hand on the steering wheel, the other holding yours right next to the gear shift. He’s probably playing some song by the Arctic Monkeys or the Black Keys because he’s too cool for pop music but too uneducated to know the real indie bands. The windows are down and the cool spring breeze is blowing through your hair. He’s looking at you in pure adoration, probably wondering how he got so lucky. But you’re the lucky one. The only thing that wakes you up is the ring of the school bell, alarming you that class has ended. All you have left to think about is if your dreams will ever become reality.

You thought about him day and night and put hearts around his pictures in the yearbooks. You just had to have him or you felt like your heart could collapse. You craved perfection and balance in life and he could give you both. How were you supposed to live without him?

Now we’re back to the present, a little older…a little wiser. The truth is, you’ll forget about him a day or two after he graduates. You’ll look back on high school for fond memories and instead find the long list of boys you had adored for no reason other than to fulfill your need to be loved. And it’s sad. What time was wasted on him, and the other guy, and the other, and the other. Do you regret it? No. It’s a crazy and sensational thing to be in love. Or to convince yourself that you're in love, at least. It’s what we humans crave. It’s what you never received. It’s what you only wanted from him. But now there’s always a new and unattainable Mr. Perfect. And he’s filling the gaps and digging the holes at the same time.