THE ARCHIVES: Chapter 166

Fiction

My ex-crush knew nothing about me either.
He thought he knew something.
(Who knew what Lindsey might have told him?)
Maybe I only admired him
for what I thought he was.
The mental image of him I always held so dear
had been nothing more than an idealized version of him,
a fiction,
like the books he reads.
Everything I read in his glances was fiction
(like a book I had written myself).
It was more hope than anything
—hope that he liked me.
But he could not like me
because he did not really know me
at all.

Return to Chapter 165 | Read Chapter 167

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