I’ve always wished I could have the typical love story. You know, the one where both parties secretly admired one another from afar, they get partnered together in one of the least enjoyable classes, they bond over the crazy teacher and the normal school drama, the boy might ask the girl on a date or to the homecoming dance, and then the girl’s father cleans his gun while the boy waits for her to get ready. But those things don’t really happen. Well, at least not to me. I’m just a spastic baking-nerd who doesn’t like to wear matching clothes and wishes that she was much more artistic than she really is. I get writers block easily and my tongue can’t touch my nose. I’m made entirely of flaws, but stitched together with good intentions. Boys don’t love girls like me. I’m Taylor Swift, not Megan Fox. There’s nothing special about me. Everything is special about him. He’s glued together by intriguing contradictions. I’m always drawn to people like that. People I can live my life vicariously through. This probably sounds really cliché, but life is cliché.