Some times, before you write these things down you have to spend a few hours starring at old pictures, getting those sentimental emotions all built up inside. You have to start pining for the past and the way things used to be. You remember all those old songs, while you're reading ancient love letters. Stuff like how she carved your name into a biology lab-table during a frog dissection. It doesn't get any more romantic than that, and you can't really make stuff like that up.

With most people you can write down their story in a few minutes but with this one it took years. Because you were mad at everyone else and it's easy to write when you're pissed off. You just let go, let loose, let fly. You tell the world the nastiest story you can about her, how stupid or manipulative or heartbreaking she was. But that doesn't work with this one because you never figured this one out. And you always come back to that same damn question: Why did I ever break up with her?

This isn't chess, or Candyland, this is more like cricket (but only for the reason that no one in this hemisphere has any idea what the fuck is going on in cricket). You love her, you snub her, you break up with her, you go back out with her. You hate her immaturity, you love her childish charm. You hate that sugary kiss that she has from a lollipop she just finished, and then you dream about it all night long. You never knew why you asked her out in the first place, but it seemed like you were meant for each other.

The bowler hurls the ball to the batsman. Its those damn knee-high boots she sometimes wore, that whole sixties, neo-hippie thing that you thought she looked like shit in, but that's the same day that you asked her back out, or wait you wanted to date her "non-exclusively" even though you didn't have anyone else to date, and you would have been pissed as hell if she did.

Something about a wicket. Its one thing when you break up with the girl, but its something entirely different, when she takes an interest in someone that isn't you, now isn't it? So you spend the entire week with her in Florida, to keep her away from him. But be honest now, that wasn't the only reason, it wasn't just jealousy, it felt comfortable, it felt right. For God's sake you let her wear your WVU hat, you made out with her and even felt her up on the way home. If that isn't love, I don't know what is.

The guy with the bat's allowed to hit the people in the field, right? So it's a year or so later, and you don't know why you broke up with her, and you're feeling nostalgic because you just got dumped or something. So you go with her to see a movie, and at this point you don't even remember what the movie was. What you do remember is that she wore some kind of flip- flops witch you hated and a pair of Capri-like (because you don't know what that style is actually called) pants, and the whole way there she talked about a lot of nonsense that you didn't deem important enough to listen to. And you somehow convinced yourself that this was the reason you broke up with her, even though it isn't. But you never bothered to tell her these small things that you found annoying. You didn't give yourself a chance to move past these petty things. Why? Because you were too busy being a smartass cryptic cynical bastard.

Why doesn't the fucking batsman charge the mound and let the bowler have it in the face? Maybe you're just being nostalgic. Maybe tomorrow you'll regret even writing it down. It might have something to do with the fact that you've been gone for six months in training for the Air Force. But right now all I remember when I look back is that one terrible day. I was beat down, worn out, a lousy run at a cross-country meet, and a long trip to catch a bus to go to a band competition. And when we get there, and she's standing in the aisle of the bus, and she looks at me, and she doesn't say a word. There's nothing annoying, no immaturity, not a single thing for my anal retentive self to criticize, she hugs me and for a few minutes everything was perfect.

So what does it all mean? Do you want to try to get back together with her? That's probably a bad idea, from her point of view at least, I mean come on, you're a fucking psycho. You'll probably call her, try to get her to read all of this; you'll play the psychologist and try to gauge her reaction. Maybe she'll think you're a sick bastard. She'd be right. Maybe she'll stop at that last paragraph and think it was really sweet. Maybe you should leave her alone. Maybe you should let the story end instead of always adding one more chapter. But maybe she can help. Maybe she'll read it and understand why everything was the way it was. Maybe she can explain it to you.

Cricket sucks and it doesn't make any sense. Just tell her not to read too much into it.