It's not that you've lost interest in him. Oh no, far from it. It's just that you're tired of using your imagination. You can't do it any more.
The amount of nights that boy has kept you up, your mind twisting and contorting with desire and frustration at the ideas he plants in your head...you don't even want to know how many times you've fantasized about him.
Your book is a thick one, beginning with a jerk of wet hair in the right direction and ending with non other then a glum text message. There was a first kiss that ignited some aspect of your person that became ruled by impulse and desire, finally settling on lust as the most dangerous of the seven deadly sins. It never felt like a random hookup, even from the beginning. Oh no, it was always much more. It was more like in a romantic comedy where the boy and girl dance around each other for awhile in a state of limbo: will they, won't they (even though everyone knows they will in the end) and then the happy music blasts and the credits roll as they finally give in and kiss.
Then there was the endless pouring over the moments you were actually in the same room, and not attempting to breach the impossibly frustrating barrier of distance by means of technology and vivid imagination. Your entire saga is ridden with precluded possibilities; Oh what we'll do when we're together! It doesn't matter that all of my words are empty, because you're an innocent girl of fifteen, naive enough to believe them! Never has someone fallen so hard, learned to depend on someone so deeply, who she hasn't spent more then a week with face to face. Her mind conjures the tantalizing image of his lean-muscled body on her own and her knees go week. He doesn't have to be there, or even say anything. Her mind just automatically dreams of him in times of low activity.
Oh, the daydreams! The doodles, the silly smiles, the telltale signs of a secret, private love affair that you had all to yourself. It was perfect, for there were his words, typed out in neat bubbly print. You could read over every single one as many times as your heart desired, pouring over each compliment, analyzing the diction and the language! The possibilities are endless when the object of your affection lives too far away to watch you get sucked down the drain of obsession. Even in times when he barely spoke to you, your mind managed to carry you back to when you were together...the cramped memory of his car, the snow melting on the windows as you peeled off layer after layer of long underwear to finally be naked together...his lanky form lazing on a raft on a pristine lake...your head falling softly on his bare shoulder, aching from exhaustion and spinning from lust and confusion...his finger tracing the inside of your thigh and sending a cascade of tingles that you feel from head to toe. These memories such hold great importance to you, no matter how short lived they were. And how did that one night feel so right...despite how wrong it was? How did one boy persuade you to surrender the respect of those you cared about in exchange for his body?
The anticipation, the possibility...trying to convince yourself not to get your hopes up every time he makes a promise, trying to deny just how consumed you are with thoughts of him, attempting to rid yourself of his presence but not being able to shake him from your mind...
The crushing, impossibly huge disappointment you still feel, even after all this, at the thought that you will never see him again.