'Gossamer'

Dear _____,

I'm sorry for all the times that I've been judgmental, you know how it is: sometimes I just open my mouth and spew my poison as if I'm right, as if I've always been; as if I know more than you. That I can verbalize my thoughts at its purest whenever I choose, to you, just because I'm older. Can I reiterate the fact that I'm more than comfortable in revealing this aspect of myself to you? I think the only other person who comes close to how I treat you in our conversations is my mother.

I think I just like to see the looks on your faces when I exaggerate.

I'm glad you found love. And I'm glad for once that I was wrong.

Remember when I asked you if you knew what you were getting yourself into? (I'm reading this really chunky book and I'm really getting my money's worth in the sense that it's already been more than six months since the date of its purchase, and I'm still left with eight chapters or so until I'm done. One of the chapters has this in it: "In Life, Misery should be the anomaly, instead of Happiness.") I was skeptical. It's become a force of habit. And for that I apologize.

But I smile on days when I think of both of you together. And right now I hope for the best for the both of you in the days to come.

Be well now, and take care; you will be missed.

Write to me again, and perhaps I'll find time to write back this time in my pretentiously cursive handwriting (everything about me is exaggerated).

Bye.

(" , )