Liza on Valentines Day, being in love, and herself.

Dear Diary,

Teenage love feels super present now that all the stores are switching their merchandise from used Santa Claus costumes to Valentines Day shit.  Last Valentines Day, my friend and I wore all-black, expressed our newfound teen angst to all those who were watching.  My crush gave me a card and I was giddy, which sort of killed the deadpan mood I was hoping to spread to the annoyingly awkward middle school couples surrounding me, and I remember skipping to my locker and singing A TEENAGER IN LOVE to a tune that sounded right, creating the soundtrack to an imaginary movie about me having a crush and being the only one to dance at the 7th grade dance and biking around the neighborhood and making hot chocolate.  Everything felt perfect, black lip gloss smeared across my chapped lips and my mom's heavy black skirt swishing against my thighs.  There's something addictive about crushes, like listening to the same playlist over and over knowing that it'll get you through the day until you get sick of it and it's just this constant thrumming in the background when you craft or do homework or whatever, and it's specialness is kind of gone.  Crushes LAST in a different way, though--thinking about experiences and songs and excitement and nervousness and movies that I associate with certain crushes gives me a rush of nostalgia and longing, like there's always a piece of me that longs for not as much that person but the excitement of admitting to the piece of notebook paper I write angsty poetry on, or later, a friend, while we watch Arrested Development on the floor of her basement, that I'm in LOVE.
I'm Liza, by the way, thirteen almost fourteen, eighth grade, stuffy but prestigious private school, cracked (not a brand or a nail sticker, actually cracked, like in the olden days) nail polish adorned nails, unmade bed, red cheeks, unfinished but satisfying when I wrote them to-do lists dotting my desk, spotify playlists playing as I clean up my room.  There's so much that comes to mind when I introduce myself--through writing especially, because with writing you can choose how you want to be seen--but I'm holding off on jucier labels for the time being. 
I have to go work out now, watch 30 Rock, think about roller derby, and then read about soil in my science textbook.
Love,
Liza