The first thing I noticed were all the features that had changed. The library was in a different location; there was some bizarre statue of children catching frogs (?) by the lake; the couches in the senior lounge had been replaced with tables.
I’ve manicured my hands and dyed my hair and perfumed my skin for you and, the whole while, I’ve told myself that it would make you love me. I’ve made sure I was the funniest in the room, the wittiest in the conversation, convincing myself that it would make you change your mind.
When you think of her now, you chose to only think of her as the silly, loud, kind of crazy girl who was fearful of talking to boys and held a Disney Channel Original Movie marathon with you one Saturday night. But you also try not to think of her now.
I’m sorry for writing this letter and not letting you live a happy, peaceful life with your girlfriend who didn’t ask for a glass of ice water. I’m sorry that I wasn’t brave enough to take a risk.
Hug a bit too tight. Speak almost exclusively in double entendres. Wander along the outskirts of romance. People will ask, “What’s the deal with you two?” and, with the conviction of an award-winning actress say glibly, “What do you mean?” Know exactly what they mean.