It’s been a while. A lot has changed since we were in second grade. I’ve fallen in love a few times, in different ways. I’ve said some “I love you”s and said some “I love you too”s and also kept some of them to myself. You know how it goes. However, you should know that when I think of love I still think of you. You were my first “I love you” to someone that wasn’t family.
Read MoreDo you remember how we first met? It was an impromptu double date. One of your roommates was trying to hook up with one of my best friends, and my apartment was off campus. I pierced my nose that night, just for the fun of it, and you stopped by for an hour or so. We ended up thrown together several more times over the next few months. And before I realized what was happening, I fell in love with you.
Read MoreWhen the breeze blew cold, the sun shined bright, and the room filled with tears of happiness, you were holding a little girl in your arms. Your arms that were warm enough to cuddle her that rainy and chilling July. Your fingers that lingered over her head and a kiss you planted on her forehead. She was lucky enough to come into this world and call you her “Papa.” I am proud to be that grown up little girl of yours.
Read MoreI’m using the names we picked for ourselves in French class all those years ago because technically I’m not even supposed to think about you. It’s been nearly two decades after all, and I’m supposed to have grown up, moved on, and all that jazz. Well. I am married – happily, I promise. But I can’t deny what our few years together meant, and I’m only recently realizing I don’t think I ever told you how much.
Read MoreI still dream about the band room at Paul Revere Junior High, sixty years later. I see you now, sitting at the cluttered desk in your little office. The new school just opened and my mother insisted I join the band, even though I had been playing the clarinet only a few months. I was thirteen and in the eighth grade, a porky, insecure, introverted kid.
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