My open letter to you









Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if you hadn't cancelled those plans the night before we met.
Perhaps then, by chance, you would have cancelled on me instead and we would have never sat across from one another, drinking wine and beer and me barely touching my food.
Perhaps it would be someone else and not me sitting here wondering what would have happened had your heart made better decisions before you ever even knew my name.
If hearts can do that––make decisions that is.
Perhaps I would not be looking for a definitive answer: picturing the boys laughing and hitting it off so well, you and I not eating dinner again and just being a part of who we are––just a part––just for an evening.
But that's not how it happened. I am sitting here and wondering if I have any reason to be thinking these things. Am I wrong? My intuition has never, ever been wrong. So, how can you not see? How can I be right and you be right, simultaneously?
When hearts ache, we can't think. So, think anyway. Think until you can't think anymore. Think until there are no thoughts left. And, when you're done, let's sit at blue booths with high backs, share bad food, and talk about all the thoughts you could have had, had you not been busy thinking on other things.
Let's get this right another time and ignore those cheesy fairy wings.
And, laugh, and laugh, and laugh.

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