It’s been one year since the first time I texted you, almost to the day. I can’t believe we broke up almost half a year ago. Half a year into my first relationship, that I poured so much of myself into. I tried my absolute hardest to be a good girlfriend. To be everything you could want. I bought you gifts. I baked for you. I cooked you a three course meal, I meal prepped for you before going on vacation, I went shopping for you while you were quarantined. The last time I ever saw you, I made you homemade lavender syrup, with a cute little label, because you once mentioned it was your favorite thing to put in your coffee at Starbucks. You laughed, thanked me, and the next morning, you dumped me. With a smile on your face, and so gently I didn’t even realize what had happened until I had already gotten home. It was for your mental health. You didn’t want to hurt me. Sure. You never even let me put in an opinion on the matter. How dare you? I was in this relationship too, fuckhead! I texted you, after. Told you I needed space for a little while, but I wanted to stay friends. Apparently you took that as “please never contact me again”. I miss you. So, so bad. Even all these months later. You were kinda my best friend, man. More than anything else, I just miss talking to you, hanging out with you. Having someone to bake for. You won’t respond to my texts. You moved out of your old apartment. You are completely shut off from me, and you never even hinted that this relationship would suddenly be over. I just want to be friends again. But I guess that would be to hard, huh? Fuck you, Ravi. 
P.S. You still have my “Good Omens” book I lent you. I want it back.