Maybe Someday

Chapter 7

Dear you,
I've lost track of what number letter this is. I haven't written in months now.
I'd always thought that one day, I would tell my children the story of how we met.
Not quite how it worked out.
I know I haven't written in a long time, but I'm hoping that somehow you'll see this. I never send these letters. I think somehow you'll find me again, just for long enough to receive the box of sealed envelopes.
Look at me, still the teenager with big dreams.
You were the first- and really, the only- exciting thing to happen to me. I used to think that maybe I imagined you, but now I realize you were too improbable to be imagined.
Do you still remember that day? Probably not. It was late September, and it was raining out, and there was jazz playing on the speakers in the cafe.
You used to love jazz. Do you still?
I was just another high schooler working on my laptop, but you walked in, dripping wet and laughing still. When I asked why you were laughing if it was raining, you said to me, "Because sometimes it isn't about how despondent things seem. If you look at it from another perspective, you'll see something good."
Those were the first words you ever said to me.
Looking back on it, I wonder if you spoke too soon. You were spontaneous and positive, and I was guided by sheer logic. Yet you claimed that you had a feeling about us, that we were destined to be together.
That week was heaven for me, you know. Thinking that you cared.
And the breakup? I guess it'd be hell.
I'm crazy. Why am I even writing this now?
I'll stop after this. Writing, I mean. It's really no use anyways.
Our breakup was over the littlest thing. You know, maybe it was my fault for being too sensitive. I didn't know- and how could I have?- that our breakup made the news.
Because you broke up with me. Because you were more upset than I was. Because you went to that cafe and destroyed everything in it in a fit of sheer rage. Because the police thought it was me. Because you framed me.
Because even now, I still couldn't ever resent you.
I'm going to stop writing. It's no help anymore.
Maybe you'll get these.
Maybe someday.

Love, me