To the pretty little girl in the frilly white shirt:

You are probably way over me and my pitiful pleas by now.
You're probably way over everything to do with me by now, actually.
The problem is,

I'm not over you. 


You probably think I should be.
It's been a long time.
Surely I would have moved on by now?

Here's the thing.
My intentions were never to move on.
They still aren't, really.
So what are my intentions?

Well, in the beginning my intentions were to wait.
I was going to wait the whole mess out.
I was going to wait until things ended with him.
And I was going to be there, gosh darnit.
When everything came crashing down for you,
I was going to be your shoulder to cry on.
And then we would talk it out
and we would both apologize and work through things.
And things would be on their way to going back to normal --
Back to how they were supposed to be.

So I waited.

And nothing turned out how I had pictured it.

nothing.

More than two years came and went right before my eyes.
I left school.
Found new friends.
Got a boyfriend.
Watched you walk out of our church
And never come back.

And you....
Well, I guess by that time you had found another shoulder to cry on.

I hope they were good to you, sweet girl.
Whoever you had, I hope they loved you like crazy.
I hope they still do.
I hope they stroked your soft, silky hair and wiped the tears from your eyes
And told you that even though it sucks right now, it will all be okay.

I hope the friends you have today treat you like the gem you are.
I hope you are respected and never taken advantage of.
I hope no guy ever tries to break your heart.
I hope you're happy.
I hope you're so so happy.
You deserve to be happy.

I think we all do, really.

I saw you last night in your frilly white shirt
and we chatted and carried on with smiles on our faces
and ice in our hearts.

I saved my cheesecake for you.
You know, the kind with the yummy cherry stuff swirled all through it?
Truth is, I really wanted to eat it.
But I could tell you were working hard, and I thought you deserved it.

Truth is,
It's been over two years
And not a day goes by when I don't think about you
and what is missing in my life and yours.
Each other.

Yeah.
Two years, girl.

And I still love you like I loved you
When we walked from town to your house
With melting blizzards in our hands
And warmth in our hearts.

I still love you like I loved you
On those bitter winter days
Sledding down the hill behind your house
And sprinting through your neighbors yard
As fast as we could
Because they don't like when people leave footprints.

I still love you like I loved you
When we played with the entire
Samantha American Girl Doll set
In your basement
And your pesky brother chased us around
That crazy little circle that your basement tends to make.

70%.

That's the number I'm going to give you.
Seventy.
You were seventy percent of the reason I left school.

I don't tell people that.
I never have, really.
How could I?

"So, why did you decide to homeschool?"

"Well, I recently lost my best friend in the whole wide world and things are really crappy between us and it's really just way too hard for me to go to that building and see her every single day and not be able to run up to her and hug her and tell her what's going on in my life and what funny thing the teacher said in last period and how fish sticks sounds lame today so we should go get subway and take it to her dad's office to eat. Yeah, that's why I decided to homeschool."

So instead I make up some lousy answer about
"a better quality of education that can be more specified to my interests and future goals."

Over and over.
Do you have any idea how many times I've been asked why I left?
And how many times your beautiful face flashed in my mind
Right before I blurted out my ridiculous rehearsed answer?

Hey, girl.
You're the reason I left.
It was too hard.
It hurt too much.
I missed you too much.
It didn't make sense.
It wasn't right.

Here's the thing:
I should still be at that school.
I really should.
My homeschooling education has been wonderful.
But I really belong there.
With those people. In those classes. Doing those things.
Unbearable circumstances changed the last two years of my highschool education.
I wish they had not.

In about three months, I'm going to watch you walk out of that red and blue tunnel
Wearing your graduation gown and a pretty little pair of heels.
And tears will silently fall down my cheek
As I think of how it should be.
And for a moment, just a moment, I will picture myself standing there right next to you
My name announced right after yours.
Walking in step to the sound of the graduation march.
As it should be.
As it always should have been.

I'm not writing this as a plea for you to return to me.
Things will never be the same.
I know that.

I'm not writing this as a super dramatic sort of farewell.
Because I can't promise you that I won't write you again.
I probably will.

Truth is, I don't really know why I'm writing this.
I just had some things that I wanted you to know.

I used to think that time healed all wounds.

Now, I think that time heals most wounds.
And some wounds will just have a special place in your heart forever.