So. One year. Three hundred and sixty five days. Fifty two weeks. Twelve months. A million years.
When they put up the signs for this dance? You weren�t even the first person I thought of. Are you proud of me? I was. It took me two days to connect it with you. Not that I haven�t been connecting pops with you. Which sucks. You know the only reason I got into this was because of you? You and your stupid line� how did it go? It makes me feel special, even now. �Anna, you need to do pops next year. And S&E. and anything else there is. Swing choir, I want you in there so bad. �Cause, Anna? You have such an amazing voice�yeah, I�ve heard you�anyway� it�s not right to keep it to yourself. You have to share it. you just do.�
I want to thank you for that. I know then I gave you an excuse, something lame which really amounted to �I don�t have the guts.� But now I want to thank you. Because it meant a lot. A hell of a lot.
Some days I still miss you. But they�re rare. I still compare every boy I meet to you.
Mom still wont let you go. I think she knows to a point how deeply you scared me. She�ll still sneak you in, trying to get a reaction. I like the method where I only talk about you when I want to. I like when I can pretend I never once thought of you, or acknowledge, vent about you. Talk about you when I need to. Because whether or not I want to admit it, you gave me so many memories, you�re still so much a part of me, that spark, that hope, that belief. You let me think for myself, appreciate myself, become myself. You shaped me.
Whereas she�ll bring you up weekly, if not more. She�ll sneak �Stairway to Heaven� in there constantly. She�ll say �Oh, he was hot, but not as hot as Cody.� I hate her for that. Please believe that I do.
Here�s the ugly things about you: 1) the person you are these days. Sometimes I see the old you, the you I knew. But a lot of the time now, you�re ugly. I mean, not physically. Just� well, you know. 2) And, well� the way you hurt me? Intentional or not, that was disgusting. 3) The way you stopped talking to me. I wish we could still be friends. I�d be even less romantic than your other girlfriends. I wouldn�t be awkward. Let�s see� 4) the way you pop into my head so often. That�s so unfair. 5) The way I hold you up like this standard. Like some sort of God-man, perfection that I wont settle without. 6) How sometimes, I think about my future and whether or not you�ll be in it. 7) the way I hope you are. 8) The way Zzach reminds me of me and you. God. You have no clue how much that hurts. That wasn�t me, right? 9) The way you�ll never assure me that that wasn�t the way it was. 10) the way you cant work with me. 11) The way I can�t work with you.
Okay� so� some days, that�s enough for me. Most days, in fact. I don�t care if you�re not my friend. I don�t care. Ha. That tickles me. But other days, the good outweighs the bad? That�s when I need to talk to you, of you, about you. Those are the days I stare out the window during class and just think. That�s all I need to do.
I hate to admit it, but you�re the perfection. The perfection that I want a man to achieve and present to me. Sometimes I�m terrified that I will never find someone good enough. That I�ll forever be a spinster. Or that I�ll never be happy, because I won�t live the life I�m being given, cause I�ll be too busy looking for a boy just like you.
I hate this: I�m afraid that Tyler isn�t good enough. I�m pretty positive that there�s no way I�m going to marry that boy, and pretty positive that I hate myself for being positive about that. I want to wait to actually fall in love until collage, when I get out of this **forsaken town and I�m accomplished and happy.
So. Speaking of him. He�s replacing you. He�s so much more romantic than you. Isn�t that funny? He holds my hand. You only did that that one night, one year ago. He takes me on dates, just like you. He talks to me whenever he can� just like you. I like that. I don�t really like the regularity, though. The change, I mean. The change in regularity. I like chasing boys, to be perfectly honest with you. It�s exciting.
That�s so bitchy. I�m sorry.
There�s two parts of me. One that would kill itself if you read this, one that cant wait until we�re old and married and I show it to you one day. And then both parts tell me that I don�t want to be old and married to you, ever. Or young and married to you, for that matter.
That�s all I want to talk about you now. So good night. Good bye. Until we meet again�.
The girl who once loved you,
~Anna
* Sorry, this was meant for the seventh, Saturday�.
** I actually love my hometown. But I hate the lack of options.