Dear Trish,

It was so annoying how Marlee slid on her jeans, buttoned them easily, and pulled a cream-colored, cable-knit sweater over her head, ready to party. She didn’t wonder if the pants were too tight, if they made her look fat, if the shirt covered the soft rolls of her stomach.

Today, you told me you never had romantic feelings of any kind. Those words knocked the breath out of me. My chest squeezed tight and I had to swallow multiple times to keep tears from spilling.

But do you remember when we walked through downtown so late it was practically morning? You offered your arm to me like a gentleman, and I took it. We walked aimlessly for hours.

Dear Past Self,

I wish I could’ve told you how much it hurts to have your tonsils removed.

Not as much as your cholesteatoma, chicken pox, shingles, or having an IUD inserted, but it would’ve been nice to be prepared to throw up blood constantly for two days.