I’m writing this letter to tell you that I am sorry. I’m sorry I ever hated on you. In fact, I miss you. It’s crazy, but I can’t stop thinking about you. We don’t even know each other. I was that person washing pint glasses at the end of the bar making fun of you. Remember, the one with the Bette Midler shirt, rolling his eyes?

Dear People Who Say Summer Isn’t Over Yet,

Shut up. Just shut the fuck up.

Dear Guy Studying the Various Boxes of Condoms at Walgreens Nonchalantly…

Well, well, well. Just look at you, walking into this dreary, hole-in-the-wall bar and lighting the place up, twirling your hair pensively as you search the room–for what? For a soul mate, perhaps?

Dearest Girl Who Got Away…