There you are. You, that just sounds funny. You know how when you say a word over and over and over it starts to sound funny? Maybe because I say you so much. I always care what happens to you. You you you. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it definitely doesn’t bother me. I’ve always been like that. Caring about others, I mean. I just wish you knew how much I cared. To you, I’m just a friend. A best friend. You’re only friend. Well, only girl friend. By girl friend, I mean a friend that happens to be a girl. Not an actual girlfriend. Just to make that clear. But, oh well. It’s not like you would ever be interested in me anyway. I mean, you’re this outgoing, funny, talented, sweet guy, and I’m, well, me. I’m the shy book worm who never wears matching socks, bakes too much and always needs chapstick. What is attractive about a girl who always needs chapstick? You always tell me about your recent girl problems while I dish out advice that I learned from Win A Date With Tad Hamilton. And that works for us. That’s what makes me and you, me and you. The best of friends. I know all of your secrets. But do you really know any of mine? Do you know that you are the reason I’m the living, walking version of 93% of the Taylor Swift songs? Do you know that while you’re stalking Facebook for the next girl you think you might have a chance with, I’m watching The Holiday thinking of how Jack Black reminds me exactly of you? Do you know that while you’re carving pumpkins with one of my best friends I’m laying in the bed of my dad’s truck thinking about how perfect we would be for each other? Do you know that while you’re on a date with another girl I’m curled up in a pink blanket writing about you? Do you know that you make me completely sick now? I don’t think you know that. Any of that. And I’m planning on keeping it that way. Look at me, I’m starting to sound bitter. Bitter isn’t a good quality on me. I try not to be, but its hard after how you treated me. Remembering this summer when I would be giggling with you on the phone just seems ridiculous now. Now, I barely talk to you. I definitely don’t know all of your secrets anymore. But the funny thing is, I don’t really want to know all of your secrets anymore. You’ve changed. You’re not you anymore. You act like one of those guys you used to hate. The ones that would like a girl just for her looks. Not what she believes in, not her personality, but just if she’s remotely pleasing to the eye. You’re one of the kinds of guys that I hate. I don’t know what happened to you, but I hope you know how to change it back. But I’m being ridiculous. I could be doing so many other things right now and what am I doing? Writing about you. You you you. See what I mean. Always about you. Even when you don’t know it.