Teenage love is a real thing. I mean, I’ve been in love with the same guy for two weeks and we’ve talked maybe three and a half times. It was really real, you know, discussing such deep topics as the weather, how much the basketball team sucks, and debating whether or not the nacho cheese tastes like melted plastic.

I really can’t get over him even though he’s three years older than me and has a super hot girlfriend. Do I really care that she’s just a year older than me? Nope, but I do occasionally talk trash about her to my friends just to boost my self-esteem. That’s pretty normal, though. It’s that little thing called jealousy.

But really, it’s no biggie. I’ll get over him eventually and move onto the next guy that pays attention to me long enough for me to feel special when he asks me what time it is. “Oh yes, baby, I’m all yours at 1:30. Just drop on by at World Cultures and let me tell you all about why you should vacation in Iceland.” Sexy, huh? I even wrote a poem for him:

“Romeo, take me
Somewhere we can be alone
I'll be waiting
All there's left to do is run
You'll be the prince
And I'll be the princess
It's a love story
Baby, just say yes…”

See, I’m really original. I swear Taylor Swift took those words right out of my mouth. Shakespeare got it all right; our love is forbidden and secret, but I’d die for him even though I’m just fourteen and met him at the Valentine’s Cabaret. Oh the coincidence!

Come now my sweetest and dearest Romeo, let us ride into the sunset in your silver Volvo. Just promise not to bite me until we’re married!!