I’m sitting here at this cluttered desk in this cluttered bedroom, trying to tell you everything. But I can’t seem to find the right words to put down. I don’t know, maybe I’m just scared that you don’t want to hear from me anymore. Or maybe I’m just a bad writer.

I wish I could tell you how discouraged I feel since I’m fighting off another dreary cold. I know it’s not much of a new update that’s worth mentioning. And I know I should be grateful that I’m not chronically ill and it’s not that serious, but I still wish I could let you know that I feel sick and alone.

I wish I could tell you about the awkward encounter I had with this older woman on the train last week. She sat next to me for an hour and literally talked at me. About her cats who leave hair all over the kitchen, about her strict diet and how she thinks sushi can poison us all, about her obscure plastic surgeries. It got pretty awkward when I needed to get up, and she kept on going. I always liked telling you these tales because you’d smile in a really subtle way. You used to like hearing my stories. You used to say that I amuse you.

I wish I could tell you that I got a part in a play. Not a lead role, thank god, but I got a decent part that had lines and it was pretty nerve racking. I almost had a terrible stomache opening night, but I got through it and was glad for the experience. I thought of you, of course, because you would always encourage me to pursue those parts of myself. You’d always give me that little push to just do it and go on stage. I even had to kiss a guy in this one dramatic scene where the two characters almost broke up but didn’t. And then I felt bad about kissing him even though we are not together anymore. Is that weird? I haven’t kissed anyone since you.

I wish I could tell you that I’m sorry, even though I’ve already said it so many times. I’m sorry that I tend to self-sabotage when I’m too afraid of trusting my own happiness. Why did I have to go on and ruin what was really beautiful? But I guess that happens in life sometimes, and I guess I need to work on myself, but I wish you would stay while I work on myself. And then we can grow together, and I wouldn’t have to write all this down in a wishful way, because I would already be seeing you and all of this would already be known.