And then there's the guy you like in the completely non-lust way. That one guy who looks like he's the one. The actual one. The one you want forever for a serious relationship. Not the one to call hot or show off or flirt crazily with. No, the actual one who you just want to be with. Nothing less, nothing more. The one guy you don't want to admit you like. Because you're so afraid that if you admit it, even to yourself, that he'll screw you over and ruin everything forever.

So you meet him, and you realise, yes, this is it. You like him, he likes you. It's obvious, everyone's saying it. This is going to happen. Being around him makes you so happy, so crazy, so warm, so perfect, so you. And the night ends on a high...exchanging numbers and that exhilirating, electrifying hug that makes your heart beat and your pulse race. Happiness.

But then it never lasts. Not with the real ones. He goes off...gets himself some other wench. And the dream is shattered. Reality stares you in the face again. Back to before. But maybe worse. You can't get him out of your head. His face is there, infecting your brain like a drug. A drug you know you shouldn't have, but a drug that you're addicted to. You want more and more, so badly. And at the same time you hate it, him, so much. You want to scream and shout and show the world what he did to you. You hate him for doing this to you, you hate yourself for letting him do it to you. For letting yourself fall in love.

And you try and forget. But it's never that easy. It never works that way. More guys come along, who may be into you. But what is even the point. They can never make you feel how he could. No-one can.

Ever.