NOSTALGIA

  Dear Anchovy Boy,

 How are you? I certainly hope you are well. It has been such a long time since we've last talked. How long has it been? About 5 months? Wow.

 I really miss seeing you around school. And I just miss pretty much everything about you. The way that you would sit and listen "attentively" to the teacher with your shoulders hunched forward. Your legs were so incredibly long that they could've slid under just not my desk but even the desk in front of me. I have always liked the way that your hair would fall lazily over your eyes and the way that you would have to brush it out of the way with a shake of your head. Que bueno.

 Maybe I should tell you about the first time I actually got to know you. It was a while ago. I remember that Amy and I sat behind you. I thought you were sososo cute. I was only 12, so of course (like every other 12 year old girl) I denied my feelings and started to make fun of you. That's when I came up with your nickname: Anchovy Boy. Because apparently to my 12 year old self, you looked like a fish. Oh Amy, Nicole, and I made many creative nicknames for you. There was "Le Derp" (courtesy of Amy, herself), "Fishy", and (lol your going to get a kick out of this) "That Boy That Makes Me Look Like A Babbling Idiot". So even though you thought that I hated you at first, YOU WERE FOOLED, FOOL! Hahaha.

 It was a year after that where I found myself very attracted to you. Social Studies was my favorite class in the world, considering we were always sitting relatively close to another. All I really remember is that our conversations were cut very short. When we were having quaint discussions about Napoleon Bonaparte or Ulysses S. Grant, someone (most commonly another of your crazed fan-girls) would come up and give you an annoying distracting. A distraction from not just the assignment, but for me too.

 There was also that time that you showed up to my softball game. I was extremely surprised to see you there. So surprised, that for the first 5 pitches, I couldn't even through a strike (talk about humiliating) It was very cool of you to stick around and cheer me on anyhow. I think that you made that game one of my favorite games that I've ever played in (even though we lost like 17-1, yikes).

 It was so great at the beginning of that year. We talked everyday. I could always make you laugh and you made feel feel complete bliss. A beautiful nirvana.

 I wonder what turned this around.

 One day, you just decided that my jokes weren't funny anymore. Our conversations went about as far as "Hi" and then soon nothing at all. I never again caught your lingering stare. You didn't come to anymore of my softball games.

 You just started hanging out with the popular kids. And you began to talk to many different girls. And you were placed in a seat farther away from me. You didn't even step into the MPR at the school dance. And at graduation even though we were standing practically right next to another, you decided to walk 15 people ahead and talk to people you met only a couple weeks prior.

 What happened? Was I just not that important anymore?

 That's not even the most cruel part. The most cruel part to end this tragedy was that you actually got me to fall in love with you. So now every time I go back to thoughts about Middle School your face always pops up. You just don't even understand, so let me spell it out for you: I LOVED YOU ANCHOVY BOY. I really did. And I wish that you could've said something and didn't just leave me hanging by myself. It's all because of you that I don't believe in love. It is! You tricked me! It was all a joke!

*breaths*

 Oh, Anchovy. Too bad all of that crap had to happen. Sometimes I wish I could go back and think about what happened. I honestly do.

 Well, I'm done crying about you (as cheesy as that sounds) so I'm just going to try to move on from you and all of the crap that you put me through.

 I just have one question.

 If nothing was even official, why does it still hurt so much?

 This is an attempt at goodbye.

 I say attempt because obviously I cannot let go. Because every time your face comes across my mind I go though a period of

















Nostalgia.



















Love, Sydney