Dear Samantha, I fear that I will never have another opportunity to speak with you. This is entirely my fault. Those text messages came from a place of fear, but that is no excuse. When we first met in High-school you were the most interesting member of the opposite sex that I had ever met, and I couldn’t help but become infatuated. Unfortunately when we met again years later those same feelings crept back up and took me by surprise. You weren’t going to leave him and it was foolish of me to think otherwise. I twisted your arm and I regret that so much. There’s something that I should have told you when I had the chance: I hate my life Sam. I might as well hate everything in it. I don’t particularly like the few friends that I have, my drug habit has become so big that I’m tempted to name it, but I didn’t hate hanging out with you this past month. It was wonderful to converse with someone who reads and to discuss life with someone who has done a fair bit of living. When again will I meet someone as interesting as you? What if I don’t? I miss you. You’re the only person I’ve met these past few years that seems to understand me. I’m worried that the rest of my life will be spent babbling pharma-lingo at randoms who show no sign of comprehension, or sampling rare serotonergic substances with little enjoyment. I’m a jaded man who’s often uninterested in socializing, yet I enjoyed my time with you. I don’t want you to leave him, I just want you to talk to me again occasionally. I need a real friend, and I need that friend to be you. I hope you read this. I hope that I hear from you one day. Entirely sorry,

- Steven