My first memory of Miss Ye stretches back to 8th grade Home Ec. I don't really remember much of her from then, but it has little bearing on the events over the next 2 years anyways. I was a silly kid asking for attention back then, just getting into trouble for other's amusement, then high school started.

I didn't really get along with any females during the beginning of that year, I was still my silly old self in an increasingly mature world. For some reason Feng stood out, I had no idea why, but something pulled her out of the background where she had resided. She was now a nice, stylish and cute chinese girl. Time passed, but nothing happened of consequence, until one day she was talking to her friend about her web site. I politely requested the URL and she wrote it for me. Light blue paper with purple gel pen, I can almost see it now. The server was down the evening after, but I managed to see it the next morning in the library tech lab, it was nice. I sent her a quick e-mail about it and gave her my AIM nick.

A reply. She wrote in broken english and stupid abbreviations but I didn't care, I wanted to know her. I mailed her back, each word so calculated, meaning so much to myself, but as I would later find, so little to her. One night, sitting on my laptop, frustrated with the POS AltaVista Internet connection she IMs me. We talked for almost an hour, she seemed so independent, so interesting.

"I wish I was Special/You're so fucking special" -Radiohead, Creep

We continued our chats and e-mails quite frequently, but I didn't know her IRL. I was growing up, but only online, I had no chance talking to her and being myself. We All Wear Masks. I tried anyways, I could only pull off simple things, my deep, complex online facade blowing off in the heavy winds of awkwardity, revealing my weak self.

One night, I told her how I felt about her, she didn't feel the same for me. I remember that night so vividly, Steely Dan playing on our Apex DVD player, me with a history project due in two days sitting over a Compaq Armada with tears in my eyes. "You have moistened my dried out contacts." I told her. She appologized a lot, I pretended that it was no big deal. I went to bed early that night, told my mom I was tired, and left the entire project to be done the next day.

For a while I couldn't talk to her online or IRL, then I managed to again. I had changed, not so much that she had changed me, but I changed because of her. But the feeling was gone, there were no warm fuzzies in discussion with her, just cold harshness, and nothing, still nothing, has brought that feeling back. I was not the old Andrew, I had grown up.

"Try to see the world beyond your front door" -Barenaked Ladies, Pinch Me

I knew that there was nothing I could do. She didn't like me, and never would. I gave up, she was okay with that.

This year started out odd, I managed to be civil with her starting off, but she offered little, and took a lot. Making jokes at my expense about things I told her in confidence, silly comments, I couldn't take that. People can mean much more to you than you mean to them. I was just another less-than-hot guy to her, and she still meant so much to me. This had to change.

"Picture the scene, where whatever you thought, would, in the blink of an eye, manifest and become illustrated. You'd be sure, man, that every line drawn reflected a life you had loved. not an existence that you hated." -Incubus, Redefine

One part of me knew she wasn't truly meaning to hurt me, but another couldn't take it, knowing that she didn't care for me in the least. I just stopped talking to her. I knew if I did I would be an asshole. There is no excuse for arrogance. She seems not to mind much, though she occasionally says "He never talks." Perhaps eventually we shall speak again, but I doubt it, as she doesn't care enough to confront me as to why I don't speak to her, and I don't want to talk to her. In time we shall go our seperate ways.

Maybe she will understand sometime. Maybe she already does. Maybe.

Log in or registerto write something here or to contact authors.