To the friend I stopped calling: I still tell stories that begin with your name.
I don’t think either of us did something unforgivable. We just kept postponing the work of knowing each other until distance became the easiest habit we shared. I hope you are happy. I hope someone still laughs before you reach the end of the joke.
Some messages are written to be delivered. Others are written so they stop living in your hands.
To my younger self: you were not too much. You were simply surrounded by people committed to less. Keep the loud shirt. Ask the question. Leave when the room requires you to disappear in order to stay.
I won’t send either note. That does not make them untrue.