Adieu, Adieu
I BLAME ALL OF THIS ON ME
IT’S BEEN TWO YEARS, and I still wonder how this has come about. Do you wonder about it too? About me, about us?
It was a real coincidence that we even started communicating, remember? I’d intended to write my cousin Maddox and I messed up two of the numbers in the mailing address. That was all it took for that letter to be sent to you. And you, I still wonder what possessed you to open up that envelope - a felony, but one that linked you to me in the end. I can’t even be mad anymore that you read something so personal to me.
As a matter of fact, I’m actually quite glad that you did. We were fated to be friends, that much I’m sure of. We were meant to have each other to be able to vent, to tell our innermost secrets to someone. I don’t regret anything I’ve ever said to you. You have made me a very happy girl - even in your worst days (and worst handwriting). For two years, your letters arriving have been my excitement.
Do you know that I’ve never told anyone - not even my sister - about you? It’s not as if I’m ashamed or embarrassed by the fact that I’ve had a penpal despite no longer being in middle school, or even high school. It’s quite the opposite, it really is: I love your makeshift company so much that I don’t want to share you with anyone else. Maybe it’s selfish, maybe it’s a bit possessive, but it is the truth.
I just want you to understand that I mean it when I say that you are a wonderful person. I know that you worry about becoming a crazy cat person sometimes, when you have a bad date and during those months where it seems hopeless in the world of romance for you. Trust me when I say that you have no reason to worry. You’re young, you’re not all that bad looking from the pictures we’ve shared over our time together, and I know for a fact that you won’t hoard any amount of cats; you told me before that you're a strict dog person and that you’re allergic to any sort of feline. (I have the best memory. Remember telling me that?)
All joking aside though, I really do think you’re a great person and that worrying about your love life is something that isn’t necessary. If your dashing good looks doesn’t attract the attention, your impeccable spelling will - and perhaps your sense of humor. You’ll be fine.
And it’s knowing that you’ll be fine that has me writing this letter to you.
This will be the last correspondence I have with you.
I’m moving. My address will not be the same and, as much as I would love for us to continue writing each other, I know that we have to end this. It’s just... not realistic anymore - for me to be falling for someone that I’ve never even met before, to be waiting on a letter that may or may not come depending on your schedule - which I know is difficult because of your travel-required job. I don’t blame this on you. I blame all of this on me and my stupid heart.
I can’t keep setting myself up for something that won’t ever happen.
At the bottom, I’m going to sign my name for the last time for you and then it’ll be over.
I wish you the best in your life, in your career, in every possible way. I really do. Maybe one day, by fate or chance, we’ll walk into a little coffee shop or reach for the same package of Cheerios on the grocery shelf and recognize each other, but until then, I bid you farewell and I’m sorry for the abruptness of this ending.
You were a great friend, a great person to fantasize over, and you’ll be a great memory.
Love,
It was a real coincidence that we even started communicating, remember? I’d intended to write my cousin Maddox and I messed up two of the numbers in the mailing address. That was all it took for that letter to be sent to you. And you, I still wonder what possessed you to open up that envelope - a felony, but one that linked you to me in the end. I can’t even be mad anymore that you read something so personal to me.
As a matter of fact, I’m actually quite glad that you did. We were fated to be friends, that much I’m sure of. We were meant to have each other to be able to vent, to tell our innermost secrets to someone. I don’t regret anything I’ve ever said to you. You have made me a very happy girl - even in your worst days (and worst handwriting). For two years, your letters arriving have been my excitement.
Do you know that I’ve never told anyone - not even my sister - about you? It’s not as if I’m ashamed or embarrassed by the fact that I’ve had a penpal despite no longer being in middle school, or even high school. It’s quite the opposite, it really is: I love your makeshift company so much that I don’t want to share you with anyone else. Maybe it’s selfish, maybe it’s a bit possessive, but it is the truth.
I just want you to understand that I mean it when I say that you are a wonderful person. I know that you worry about becoming a crazy cat person sometimes, when you have a bad date and during those months where it seems hopeless in the world of romance for you. Trust me when I say that you have no reason to worry. You’re young, you’re not all that bad looking from the pictures we’ve shared over our time together, and I know for a fact that you won’t hoard any amount of cats; you told me before that you're a strict dog person and that you’re allergic to any sort of feline. (I have the best memory. Remember telling me that?)
All joking aside though, I really do think you’re a great person and that worrying about your love life is something that isn’t necessary. If your dashing good looks doesn’t attract the attention, your impeccable spelling will - and perhaps your sense of humor. You’ll be fine.
And it’s knowing that you’ll be fine that has me writing this letter to you.
This will be the last correspondence I have with you.
I’m moving. My address will not be the same and, as much as I would love for us to continue writing each other, I know that we have to end this. It’s just... not realistic anymore - for me to be falling for someone that I’ve never even met before, to be waiting on a letter that may or may not come depending on your schedule - which I know is difficult because of your travel-required job. I don’t blame this on you. I blame all of this on me and my stupid heart.
I can’t keep setting myself up for something that won’t ever happen.
At the bottom, I’m going to sign my name for the last time for you and then it’ll be over.
I wish you the best in your life, in your career, in every possible way. I really do. Maybe one day, by fate or chance, we’ll walk into a little coffee shop or reach for the same package of Cheerios on the grocery shelf and recognize each other, but until then, I bid you farewell and I’m sorry for the abruptness of this ending.
You were a great friend, a great person to fantasize over, and you’ll be a great memory.
Love,
