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?
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Dear Guy Studying the Various Boxes of Condoms at Walgreens Nonchalantly…
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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?
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Dearest Girl Who Got Away…
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