This is off the top of my head. No drafting, no editing. The point of this, however, is not the quality, but the meaning. Deal with it.



364 days and 10 hours ago, exact to the hour, I said, "I'm gettin' to be an old lady like you," to a certain 19-year-old girl. Her name was Andrea, though everyone -- everyone in town -- knew her as Andy. For the past 363 days, those words have been the only thing on my mind. They haunt me when I'm awake, and they occupy every dream. 364 days ago, I turned sixteen, and 364 days ago, that girl's life was cut short. That morning, I had regarded her as old, as did my little brother. She was my older sister, the oldest kid.

It was a relatively normal day. Go to school, come home, wait for everyone. Everyone did not show, however. My sister, an angel when she was alive, had gone out with her friends to buy a last minute gift. Not that she needed to, Andy already bought me a Nintendo DS and a lifetime's worth of games. But Andy was too awesome. We waited for her that night, slowly growing worried. She was so trustable, it was obvious something was wrong after six o'clock. Then seven o'clock. Eight o'clock. The phone rang multiple times, but no one got up to answer it. It was nine o'clock when someone knocked on the door. We couldn't ignore that. My father answered the door, while me and Jeffy sat watching on the stairs. He called my mother over eventually, and by then, he was crying. I took Jeffy upstairs, for his sake and mine. I wouldn't let them tell me why Dad was crying on my birthday, I already knew what must've happened anyways.

I refused to cry then. Not only did I have to watch my little brother, but all I could think about were those 9 words I said that morning. I called her old. We believed she was old. Yet, after what had happened everyone of us was tortured about how young she was. I always hated how cheesy we sounded, but it was true.

Now, "only the good die young" stops me in my tracks. It's too true.

Here's to you Andy. Love ya, babe.