Do you mind me sending a heartfelt paragraph? if i talk to you like this, it'll feel a little like talking to each other in 2019 again. in all honesty, a part of me misses you, in an unknown way yet. i can't tell whether this longing is amico-related, full-on nostalgic or romantic. it's extremely inappropriate to talk like this, but it's a real feeling I'm currently going through. i don't know; maybe we should've gotten together if you did like me even just a bit. perhaps that would erase the curiosity that lies within me. or maybe not curiosity, maybe just the foolish, romantic, nostalgic part of my heart that finds it difficult to let go of feelings that never materialized into something real. christ, i pray you never ever read this because this is extremely embarrassing and devastating should anyone else but me read it. consider this a letter that should've been posted to you many years ago, that arrived only today. this letter, which back then would've been considered a rubicon-crossing type thing, is only relevant if seen through the lens of a nostalgic person, one who's trying to piece his life back together. this is, after all, the remnants of my past self talking to you, with the honesty he wasn't able to give you when it would've mattered the most.
now, i have to live with the regret of never knowing how you truly felt and you never knowing how much, just how much, i needed you back then, just how much i loved you, just how much i liked you. you would've been my everything and my every day would've been devoted to you; hell, i would've written you books of poetry just to show you a small piece of my devoted heart which I'd have given to you in whole - really, there would've been no space for anyone else. but look at us now...****, we're both alone but we can't even say anything to each other now, the ship is now beyond repair. i cannot sail to your island anymore, my love (for i do still wholeheartedly love you). so, what now? should i press send? i am downing my final shot of the night. i am sober enough to tell this is the type of **** only a drunk person would send. but i am not sober enough to stop myself from sending it. we both know the bridge has long burned. i just need you to know, i desperately want you to know you are still my muse, the one i write little lines for in my notebook, the one i dedicate whatever lame poem i come up with.
okay, that's all i had to say. good night, Willa.
He looked at his phone for a minute or two, loud chatters surrounded him. For a moment, he hesitated. His thumb was hovering over the delete button. He was imagining her face as he closed his eyes. The music died down. Customers left one by one. Stoically, he sat there, meditating, contemplating. Email sent.
one of those texts you come up with only when you're drunk.
