Dear you,

Yes it’s been a long while. Yes, I’m married. Yes I cheated on you for a week with my current husband. Yes, I didn’t tell you about it. Yes, I left you for him. Yes, I waited years to apologize. Yes, I cut off communication with you. Why did I do all these things, you ask? It’s complicated. But it was all well-intentioned, I swear.

Now, it’s been about five years. It sucks that my husband and your birthdays are the same. It sucks that he likes the same shows as you. It sucks that I have to see your roommate from college every week at my school. It sucks that so many things remind me of you. It sucks that I’m not happy. I left you for many reasons, all of them probably stupid. I was infatuated with him. You were in another city. You weren’t a “good boy.” You weren’t making me a priority (or so I felt). I though you weren’t ready to take it to the next level. I wanted to be married. I thought you weren’t ready for that. I made so many assumptions. About him and his family. About you and your family. I thought they wouldn’t accept me. I was super different. I thought his family was similar to me and to my family. Turns out everything was opposite. Everything.

And now I’m stuck. Been married almost 5 years, haven’t spoken to you in the same amount of time. I still cry sometimes because I miss you so much. When I’m feeling overwhelmed because my husband and I got into a horrible fight, I still want you to come save me. The marriage Counselors say that I’m letting you set up shop in my head, free rent, she called it. I try to evict you. But you just keep coming back. They say the first loves never leave, fully and truly. They were right. If I could turn back time, and I would give almost anything to do it, I’d go back to that day, in the architecture building, when you tapped me on the shoulder, reminding me that I had met you 3 days ago, when I had a politely confused look on my face. Or maybe even before that, to that Friday when I was introduced to you. I’d find me and tell me to play hookey that day, to not go to my Friday classes, to stay home and go swimming or watch some anime all day while lazing about in your pjs.

If I had only 1 chance to turn back time, to that Friday or to that Wednesday, the last day I talked to my mom, I don’t know which one I would choose. That’s how much this hurts. That’s how much I miss you. I wish I hadn’t met you. Actually, I wish I hadn’t messed up that summer. And now, you refuse to respond to my emails, refuse to meet me. I haven’t given in and called you. Why? You have a girlfriend. She seems lovely. A little slutty but you know, who isn’t a little bit? She seems smart. You are both at premier med schools. She’s in residency. Premier, super competitive residency. You both look cute in pics together. You both are going on one year now. Why you haven’t blocked me on Facebook is beyond me. Especially after that little conversation you had with Zee. Where you refused to see me because you weren’t in the market to have my problems unloaded on you. And you didn’t want to disrespect your girlfriend. While I don’t want you to disrespect your girlfriend, I wasn’t going to unload all my problems on you. I just wanted to see your smile, hear your laugh, hear you say those words that you do with that mixed New York accent of yours. Ask you how you mom is, your sister. Ask you where you’re applying for residency. Ask you how your band and music is going. Because I miss you. I miss you so much sometimes I can’t help but get lost in my thoughts of what if, and what had been. While my husband is in the next room, unaware. Does that make me a horrible person? Maybe. But I already make myself feel like a horrible person in every other department that it’s okay if I let something slide every now and then.

Can I call you? Of course, I still know your number. Will you hang up? Probably. Although you told Zee that it’s been a long time and that I should get over it, I don’t think you’re over it. I think you’re over me, but I don’t think you’re over it. Otherwise, why would you have been so hostile? Refused to respond to my email when you said you’d respond if I wrote an email “shoot[ing] straight from the hip?”

I miss you.

Till next time,

Trish