It wasn’t a choice of mine. If it were, things would be entirely different. I wouldn’t of written melancholy-restricted words and stanzas that reflected the most disastrous form of hurt. It was a choice of yours. A choice that I couldn’t fathom for a long time. A choice that still creeps up out of the dark corners that make up my mind. A choice that I had a hard time coming to terms with. But I did. It’s hard to throw away some of the best years of my life. These years, no matter how hard I try, will never be able to be completely erased from my memory. Thank you for some of the best years of my life. I hope they were good for you too. I’ve known you since we were 17. Over four years later and it’s like I don’t know you at all. Is that what happens? Maybe. I guess life happens. We grow up. I thought those years were the very best years of my life. But truth be told we’ve barely started living. So, with each passing day, as cliche as this may sound, my heart is slowly learning to heal itself. And as for my mind: it’s slowly learning to not turn against me. It might take longer than my heart, but I have faith. Thank you for impacting not only my soul and total being, but my writing. You were a big source of inspiration, whether it was good or bad. It’s not easy. And it’s still a work in progress. Thank you for being the first of many things. And teaching things about myself that I would’ve never known without you. So all I can really say is thank you – for everything. And no matter what happens, you’re the first everything. My first everything. But you’re right – life goes on. And we have to live ours.