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Onward.

We lay in the grass and talked about hope.
We talked about our silly dreams,
I told you I wanted to be the lead singer in a band.
It took you a week, but you learned my favorite Counting Crows song on guitar, gave us the name Goose Feather, and made my dreams come true right there in your bedroom.
It sounds like the biggest ball of cheese. But it wasn't. It was the most genuine, romantic thing anyone had ever done for me in my entire fucking life.

How..the...fuck...was...I...not...supposed...to...fall....in...love...with....you....?

This was 10 years ago.
He gives me compliments like 'Of course I'm coming home babe, you don't leave girls like you alone for too long.' And he says 'I don't need to tell you you're beautiful everyday, because girls like you already know.'
He says the word 'Fuck' like its straight sex coming out of his mouth.

I started writing in this diary after he and I started dating. He doesn't know it exists. In fact, I started writing in it to deal with his untimely departure to war after only dating for 8 months.
I used this diary as a basis for my final thesis paper in college.
He doesn't know about that paper either.
It's been 10 years of escape. A way to sort through the mess.
And for our 10 year anniversary in March, I've made a book out of it to give to him. To finally let him know it all.

Which brings me to my next point....I don't know if I'm ready to do this or not. But I'm done. It's time to move on.
Thank you for the years Diaryland.
I'm ready to suffer and I'm ready to hope.
Love,
Veronica

11:25 a.m. - 2012-12-30

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