A Letter of Love and Longing

I refuse to let you go, baby.

It's been nearly ten years, but I still feel the same way.

Every once in a while I wake up, thinking about you.

Whats new with you, are you loved the way you deserve?

I'm 27 now, the last picture you probably have of me in from 2001 or 2000. I was pretty then, we both were. I used to love the times we spent together late at night, in my room at my mom's house, long after everyone was asleep. You and me baby, we made magic. We shared it with the world.

You taught me so much, I want to apologize to you now that it was mostly trial and error, but we were young. We always think we know what's best, growing older means knowing every three years you think the person you were then was an idiot. Invariably and subjectively, we're right.

Though this late night missive is, fortunately, brief; don't let its brevity take away from my years of longing. I want you then, I want you now. I don't know if it could still work between us, but dammit we can try. What we had was so wonderful, and so meaningful, why can't we try again?

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