Dear James,
My god James. My god James. What did I do? What did I do? I am so sick. There is something wrong with me. I’ve tried to forget you. You really screwed me up. I was already screwed up before you and then…there was you.
All the other ones after you. Three to be exact.
They don’t make me feel the way you did. Remember how happy we were just sitting next to one another? Waiting in line anywhere, stuck in traffic, visiting your grandmother, running to Publix to buy your non-alcoholic drinks? Because you had gone on your straightedge binge (although you insisted on closet smoking behind my back…I could always smell it on you…you were so funny like that).
Doing any inane waiting… was heaven with you.
I screwed it all up. It was my fault.
Things get damaged, things get broken. And I thought we’d manage…
You are so beautiful. You look so beautiful…
Stuck. Not being able to ever have what we had with any of them….not being able to find it again. Not being able to have it with you.
Will I find it again?
Have you?
Just writing this letter makes me sick. How can I love and hate being around you all at the same time. This is not right.
Always, Jude.