Teenage ticks

When I was sixteen I met a girl who, inevitably, I fell for. Let's call her Sarah- for no other reason than that is her real name. She was perfect; long straight black hair, stunning complexion and a cutesy mole on her top lip, ideally placed as a full stop to her beauty. We were close, visiting each other and conversing by letter (a much missed and forgotten format), and we talked as much as possible. Like the inept, emotionally unpropagated turd seed that I was I never told her what I thought of her, never tried to kiss her, never did anything other than let it sit in my brain like a sticky goo that refused to be coughed up in words. She, also inevitably, ended up getting off with the slimiest twat in school and broke my spotty heart. I hid it well; only around 95 percent of people noticed and I managed to keep it off the news. Just. I wonder about her sometimes- her name is too common to search for so I'm left wondering, probably eternally. I hope she's fat and unhappy though, just because I'm not. Bint.