Even though we both have lives now, families and a new history, I can’t help missing you sometimes. I miss the fun times we had as kids, and the innocent love we had as young teenagers. I miss you. I suppose it would be easier under different circumstances; but my folks moved me away from you, far away, so suddenly I had no time to recover from the loss.
Now you’re married with a child, and I’m deeply in love myself, but I still have a hard time sometimes, and I feel as if I need to see you.
When the feeling comes on strong, I find that old book the poem I wrote about you is published in and I read it a few times; this usually makes me feel better.
If I call, I usually end up saying something stupid, and you always reply “I’m Married, I don’t want to talk about the past!” It usually comes across as if you protest too much, but I’m likely wrong anyway. You always seem a little less than happy in your marriage, as if you were married because you were having a child; I always wanted better for you.
Where does the time go, darling. Where has it gone? I guess we’ll never know, because this is a letter you’ll never read.