I'm seventeen years old now, and I'm doing just fine. I'm obsessed with love, but I know now isn't my time. Because it's nearing the end of my junior year, and I still don't know what I want from here. The problem is I'm good with books, but that's about the end of it. Yes, I have friends, four I can talk to, but none I can cry to. I guess I could bare it all out for them to see, but I'm waiting for the day when I meet someone who's not just going to leave me. Friends, I've seen them come and go. So I've made it a habit to never latch on. I know it's probably not healthy, to keep all these bursting feelings and thoughts inside of me. I don't know why I do it. No that's a lie, I know exactly why I do it. I can't trust. And the silly thing is no one has ever taught me not to. I just taught myself. After seeing all the things I can keep to myself, I thought of all sorts of things my own family or friends could be keeping from me. Because this is real life. I'm not the narrator or author here. Things don't go my way, and I don't know the ins and outs. I don't know everyone's motives and I can't hear everyone's hushed whispers. I could easily overlook the side glances and hints. Because I'm another protagonist here. I also whisper, I also keep things quiet, I hurt in silence just as loudly. So that's where I stand today. At seventeen, nearing the end of my schooling days. I go to school to learn, and catch up with friends who don't know the least bit about me, since I'm afraid of trusting and getting hurt.