Dear Girl,

I'm going to be totally ambiguous here. I will keep your anonymity a secret, but if you read this, you will most likely know who you are. Don't come crying to me if you don't like this post, I've had enough of high school drama in the last few hours.

Anyway.

I never knew that a chord progression could ruin a solid quarter of my Junior year.

I-V-VI-iii-IV-I-IV-V.

D-A-b minor-f# minor-G-D-G-A.

Pachelbel's Canon in the key of D.

(Damn you, Johan.

You have to go write a song that sounds all romantical and shit.)

Many others have used these chords to write songs.

Tony Hawk's Pro Skater comes to mind with Goldfinger's "Superman"

Vitamin C's "Graduation (Friends Forever)"

Green Day's "Basket Case"

You get the idea.

I thought, maybe I should follow suit.

Smooth, Max, real smooth.

You were in one of my favorite classes my junior year, your sophmore year.

The best part? We were partners for every project.

We got to chill for 4o-some odd minutes 5 out of 7 days a week.

I seriously couldn't ask for anything better.

We got really close, and we knew a lot about each other.

You were one of the nicest and cutest girls I ever met.

Me, being an idiot, started crushin'.

I took Mr. P's songwriting class, 6th period.

You took it 5th, because you had some other class 6th.

I thought "Oh man, I could totally write you a song, perform it during my class period, and you'd never know!"

The night before my performance for the class, I began to write one of the best songs ever. I stayed up until 4 in the morning, finishing it.

This song put all of my feelings out there. It had our inside jokes, our talents, everything that would make us unique together. It. Was. Awesome.

The day of the performance rolls up.

You're not in the class we shared together, which, I did care that if you were sick, but the fact that you wouldn't be in school made my day better. The song would be sung, and you'd never know.

6th Period arrives.

I open the door.

There you are, the happiest looking black hole in the back of the room.

You run up to me.

"Max, I came in late today! My class right now has a substitute, so I'm gonna be in your song writing class today! You perform today, right!?"

Oh, I perform today, alright. 

I felt ill. I had no back up song. It was now or never.

Who knows, maybe the outcome could have been like the end scene of "The Wedding Singer".

I'm in the front of the room, my guitar in my lap, the most evil of microphones in front of my face. This was not going to end well. Not at all.

You sat in the back of the room. The prettiest maelstrom was now dragging my heart to the bottom of the sea, and I haven't even shouted for help.

I started strumming. My eyes were in disbelief. Why was my brain so cruel to make my arms move? My traitorous tongue began singing. I was dead before the ship even sank. 

Yes, that is a direct Modest Mouse reference.

Three minutes later, it was over, and the class clapped for my efforts. Mr. P really liked my song, and said that he could most definitely relate to it, having had the same kind of experience when he was in high school.

I went to go sit down, and you joined me at my chair, hugged me and said "great performance!" and left it at that. You acted like my song didn't effect you. You didn't even notice.

Praise Jesus, sing 'Hallelujah'! God is good.

I see you in the hallway two periods later.

You ask, "Max, was that song for me?"

Uh.

"No... what are you talking about?

"Stephanie (name changed to be ambiguous) pointed it out to me. The song is about me. All the lyrics fit."

"Uhm, I don't know what you're talking about." To make it more obvious, "I gotta go to class, I don't wanna be late."

The next few days pass. You didn't question me. We barely even spoke.

We're out to do one of our projects. We're walking the halls. You tell me we need to stop at the school store. This tall, gangly, ginger kid is behind the register. He comes out from behind, you two hug, and you two kiss each other on the lips, hold hands, and canoodle. I leave to finish filming. I never wanted to vomit worse in my whole life.

You tell me he's your boyfriend. My friend say's he is a legit drug addict.

Happy Valentine's Day.

Love,

Max.