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Sometimes he's in love with Lucy van Pelt, with her straight dark hair that goes on for miles and bright beaming smile that shows all her shining white teeth. She's a right bitch half the time but she's so easy on the eye. She's easier to listen to, sometimes, not that he gives her much chance to talk.
Sometimes he's in love with Linus van Pelt. And maybe it's a family thing, Brown and van Pelt, but he can't help it when Linus bites at his bottom lip just so and winds his blanket around his wrist, around and around, like it's calming. He fiddles with his sleeves and blushes when he speaks and there's always that sense that he really shouldn't be doing this at the back of his head. But that's what makes it fun.
Sometimes he's in love with Marcie Johnson-Carlin, with her brilliantly sharp mind and her habit of adjusting her glasses too often. She's kind and gentle and caring, and she's genuinely willing to put in all her effort for him (which kind of shocks him, because no one else does). She kisses him with her whole heart and he's a little guilty he can't do the same. Most of all, though, she's sweet. Almost too sweet, but not every love can be bitter.
Sometimes he's in love with Schroeder, who frankly refuses to acknowledge that anything they do together has ever happened. He won't look at Charlie, nor will he smile or wave back. Instead he will turn to that bloody piano (this is what Lucy was complaining about, wasn't it?) and press out a few more chords. That suits him fine (it doesn't) - if the other boy wants to lie and save face then why should he care about that?
Sometimes he's in love with Peppermint Patty, who ruffles his hair and calls him Chuck and beats him in every sport ever. She's a force of nature barreling through everything, only stopping for him, and he smiles to himself as he pulls her close to him and lets the basketball she'd been holding drop on his foot. (Which hurt, but she wasn't going to know that.) She kisses like she bats: fierce and passionate and dedicated. It's flattering, he thinks, to be on the receiving end of that amount of love.
Sometimes he's in love with the little red-haired girl. He imagines that if he whispered sweet nothings to her, her face would turn as red as her hair. He wonders if she's sweet or fiery or somewhere in the middle. He wonders if she'd leave lipstick marks on his mouth the way Marcie would, or if she'd bite at his lip the way Patricia would. He sketches her in his notebook as she lays, perfectly still, on the grassy fields where he plays baseball; nothing more ever happens, no matter how much he wants it to.
Sometimes he's in love with a girl, sometimes a boy. Sometimes with someone who loves him back, sometimes with someone who doesn't even realize he's there. What's always the same is that, in the end, Charlie Brown finds himself alone again.