#18 December 31, 2015
Dear Strangely Misunderstood,
I've been very busy with Christmas. Hardly even able to think about you until someone mentions your name or something that reminds me of you pops up. I try very hard not to think of you, and it almost works. It makes me feel accomplished. For Christmas we went to my Grandma's and I drank a glass of wine. It made me sleepy. I opened a bunch of presents, and laughed like nothing could ever go wrong again. I hope that your Christmas was just as wonderful. Maybe you got along with your brother for once, maybe you visited your grandparents' graves, maybe you got the poetry collection you've been wanting for weeks. I hope that you got everything you've ever wanted.
In your life, I want you to have everything you want. I recognize that isn't me, but I also wish that it was. I want you to get married and have three beautiful children like you want. Two boys, and a baby girl. I want you to marry someone who sees you for all of the flaws and all the perfections. I want you to get that job you want as an engineer out of college and I want you to live the best life that could be offered. Please, for me. And even if I don't find any of these things in life, I would still want it for you. I could be broken and loveless for the rest of my life, but as long as you're happy, I'm happy.
As I said before, I've hardly thought of you, until you texted me today, that is. You asked what I was doing tonight, which I had thought was rather strange. You asked me to go to a party, which I quickly refused. You didn't seem all that disappointed. Maybe someone put you up to it. I have no idea. But I knew that going was a bad idea. So I am just sitting at home, pitifully, watching the ball drop with a glass of wine. I hope you won't try to convince me of anything again, because I don't think I would be able to refuse.
Love,
The Pitiful Celebrator
YOU ARE READING
Love Letters to the Possibly Broken and the Strangely Unforgotten
Romance*COMPLETED & PUBLISHED ON IBOOKS* Sometimes she writes letters. But he never replies. Maybe because she never actually sends them, and she doesn't plan on it. Nothing but the pieces of paper and the red sharpies need to know that she loves him. This...
