You know how when you’re little and you make promises that you can seriously never keep? Like being friends forever with someone you barely know, or promising that you’ll never ever change, even when you hit puberty?

I hate how I miss you

I miss your every word

Your every thought

Well I made one of those promises at the age of fourteen to seven people, on the last day on eighth grade, and even used my pinky to seal the deal.

I thought I could escape

From the memories

From the hurt

Stupid, right? Well for a while it didn’t seem that way. I guess when you get caught up in the moment, and you have people you want to be friends with around, you kind of loose your mind.

From it all…

They say that’s what happens when you’re in love. No, I’m not confessing my undying love to my friends; it’s a different kind of love. It’s like wanting to take care of someone who makes you laugh when you’re down, see them smile, and protect them from the world even if it means hurting yourself.

But you wouldn’t let me go

Every word you spoke

Ever smile you had

I wanted to do that, I wanted to protect people I barely knew, promised to be friends with at the age of fourteen, and am not going to the same high school with. Even stupider, I know, but I guess I was a moron back then.

So now I’m stuck with you

In my memory

But, you know what takes the cake, and makes me the hugest moron in the whole entire world? Actually thinking, having hope, that I could accomplish my wish and have a sitcom friendship.

Yep, that’s me over their, crying in the rain because of my idiocy.

I’m going with, your probably confused, and want me to start from the very beginning of the story?

Sure, why not. I’m only sitting in the rain talking to a complete stranger, crying my eyes out, all thanks to some stupid photographs in my album, and my old year book signatures.

Going back in time and remembering everything that clearly isn’t always that easy, so bear with me as I try to retrace invisible memories of two years ago…

This is my story, my adventure, and my worst nightmare, feel free to cry with me at any time.

Just let me go…

Authoress note-

Don’t you dare flame, or I will kill you. Please remember the difference between being a good critic, and a stupid idiotic flamer.

I know my story has atrocious grammar, a plot that barely makes its point, and a character that seems really odd. Deal with it.