If I would write this letter to you today, I would tell you how I made myself sick thinking about you this week. That every couple I saw was you with her. That every familiar tree, building, person, sight, sound, smell, asked about you.
I would write to tell you that everyday I remember your flecked eyes, each and every laugh that you brought out of me and each one that you gave back to me. I would tell you that I remember your touch, and the way you stood in front of me in my eyes. And the way you could be impatient.
I would write that I am strong. I have accomplished more than I thought I could. I wouldn't tell you this to prove anything. It just is. I would write that I am so much better and stronger in myself than I had been. I would tell you about the trains, the graveyards, the music, the people I have encountered.
If I would write a letter to you today, I would say that I hope you are happy. I would say
One day my insides won't be tied up. Maybe that'll be after you marry your girl. After I have my first child. Maybe I will send you a picture of my family dressed up for Abraham Lincoln's birthday in a few years, and you'll send one of your own back.
Maybe one day I won't hope that you'll read this, that you won't be with your girl anymore. That you'll have regret, and feel an eighth of what I have felt over you. I would leave a few things out. Like perhaps I should have done all along.
If I would write this letter today, I would sign,