Dear Boy,

Dear Boy,
I wrote the same letter to you a year ago, but things have changed since then and I believe so have I. My writing has gotten darker and so have I. No, I did not get tanned.
So, I am writing this again, with the hope that when you do read this, it will help you out with understanding me, which I don’t believe is entirely possible, for I don’t know who I am myself.
Moving on to happier things (like that’s possible), I still do not like Roger Federer and Chelsea. And I will still beat you at tennis and football. I might resort to “untraditonal” tactics, maybe. And yes, I know the offside rule, maybe better than you!
I still love Rafael Nadal, and that love has grown, to the point where, I no longer I can handle his defeats. As for Michael Phelps, you do realize that the bong was mine !
For when we do meet, I won’t be the one in the mini, nor the one in the tight jeans in the centre of a huge gathering, mostly, I’ll be in my boy shorts, sitting under a tree, reading a book, on travel. Or I’ll probably be the one, wearing my old school jersey, a huge beer mug in my hand, screaming at Rooney to finally score on the field. Or the one, with acting loony and singing at the Carnival, mostly it’ll be ‘Leaving on a jet place” but you never know. Or maybe I’ll just clash into you, during one of my clumsy moments.
I am not saying it’ll be magical, because it most certainly won’t, but it’ll be something.
And like you will found out, I am not the coolest person to be around, I am the most coolest person. And yes, I want gifts.
For now that’s it, better get started on the gifts though.
Love (hopefully),
Some girl.