I suppose that when my friends tell me that I have awful taste in guys, they’re really not kidding. Whether it’s the more-than-a-little-too-friendly freshmen, the stalker sophomore, the jealous junior, or the stupid seniors. There’s the one who only liked my best friend, the one who was completely oblivious to me and could barely remember my name, the over-obsessed stalker, or the one that was the first in my mind while I was fifth in his. Call me a hopeless romantic, call me a farfetched dreamer, hell, call me naive, stupid, and foolish! Don’t call this a silly little poem, call it a history book; because I’ve learned from my mistakes and won’t make them again….or so I tell myself.
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