"Your name is Priscilla Bonnibel Baumgartner. You were born in Germany, and moved here when you were thirteen.
Guess that's when we met right?
You were wearing this long purple skirt and lacy pink top, your red hair was held back with your yellow and blue headband that you wore almost every day.
I probably should have given you the heads up about that boy Ricardo. Yeah, he was pretty jerky, not that you don't already know.
I think we got partnered up in science or whatever and you did most of the work. I probably did the groundwork for most of it but you insisted on fixing it.
Science was your favorite class.
Your favorite foods were pudding, cherry soda, and just about every candy ever created.
I remember you getting mad at your little brother for eating your pudding. But if they didn't eat your pudding or pop, you rarely ever yelled at anyone.
Okay you did yell at my "stepfather" a lot, I swear he was a good man… At one point anyway.
Sometimes I think you're the only person who understood my past. I mean it wasn't like I went out and told everybody about it.
But everyone thinks I'm rich and had everything brought to me on a silver platter. My father makes the same amount of money as a lot of football players and has been for as long as I can remember.
so not a lot of people believe me when I say I used to dig up French fries from fast food dumpsters just so I'd have something to eat.
Life's a lot better for me now, Dad has cleaned up his act a bit but he's still an a-hole.
You were the one who kicked my now ex-boyfriend Ash in the nards, after he beat the living snot out of me.
You got my teddy bear back from Maja, yet another ex that you said I was too good for.
You'd always been there when I needed it. Sometimes I wonder if I was just as good to you as you were to me.
Like does getting back at the boys who made fun of your accent and called you and your family Nazi's make up for rescuing me from the all the living hells I had gotten myself into?
And you know I can't write for sh-, I'm much better at song writing.
Maybe one day I'll write another killer song about you, the kind I sang to you all the time.
But now I'm kinda numb and broken on the inside, so much that I can't write a track that could go on Marina's Family Jewels album.
I guess I should have learned something from my father, or Simon, or every other partner I've ever had, or at least every CD I've ever owned or pirated.
I guess they played that Paramore song way too many times on the radio.
Who am I kidding? I stupid to think that I'd never fall in love with you.
Well it happened, and my hearts a shattered piece of window.
How was I supposed to know that being a responsible individual, okay being somebody who didn't want to hear her girlfriend complaining about her grade, and making sure you got home early so you didn't fail that test in English was a bad idea?
How was I supposed to know that it would be the last time we talked when you walked out the door that night?
How was I supposed to know you'd be at the wrong place at the wrong time?
How was I supposed to know there was going to be a some jacka- with a loaded gun somewhere between your house and mine?
How was I supposed to know you'd spend your last moments on a sidewalk writhing in pain?
Nope, still blaming myself for everything.
Your little sister just sobbed in my pantleg, at the funeral. She said she wanted you to wake up and "make Mummy and Daddy stop crying"
Remember when you made me read "The Giver"?
Well that part where the first memory of pain The Giver gives Rosemary is a mother losing it's child is f-ed up!
Your father completely broke down when he saw you in the casket.
The poor man's daughter had been taken away with the flick of a switch!
One pull of a trigger and every thing Priscilla Bonnibel Baumgartner had ahead of her was gone.