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You must be 35 now right?
A friend (read: therapy) told me to write a letter to get the gunk out. So here it is. I just want to sleep ffs. Probably gonna have a migraine when I wake later.
I know you don't celebrate birthdays because you're boring like that. Or maybe just a Taurus. Or maybe...just a man.
The last time we saw each other was around September 2020. We were all fucked by the pandemic, yet you finally had the guts to show yourself and said "sorry". You know what, that's really all I needed to hear, and my 20 yr old self lit up and overrode my then 23-going-24 yr old self—either way, my pre-frontal cortex wasn't developed. I genuinely thought that we could make it work that time.
I miss how blissfully naive I was.
There's so many things I want to share to you. So many questions I wanna ask you. One of them being "did you feel as shitty as this when you were 29? or worse?". Coz when we last met you were 29. I know you don't believe in astrological shenanigans, but it was your Saturn Return. You talked about the depression, the not knowing what to do with your career, you wanting to be a pilot all of a sudden? Or pursue another degree? Rotting in your room probably playing World of Tanks, reveling in your "niche" kinks (is voyeurism still niche?). You wanted to clear the ledger because, idk the timeline, you just said "there's someone I want to pursue". It didn't hit me right away, honestly. I was rotating you with 2 other guys, one of which became the next longterm obsession.
But there was nobody quite like you. Like ours. Our stupid, little, soulful connection.
And frankly I hated how much I compared all the guys after you with you. It's not like there were even any less. They were better in bed, a lot of them. They treated me nicely. They were waaay less complicated than maybe three timelines of you combined.
But they're just not the same.
And now, I started writing this novel last quarter of 2025. It was supposed to be a sequel to this short film concept that I used for my undergrad Finals. You even helped film that at [redacted] Boulevard, not knowing that it was our story. I know, I know, I am insane.
What started out as a second-chance romance novel...turned out to be far greater. I honestly don't know whether you'll be cursing me to my grave or be proud of me because of it. Or just flattered that the MMC was inspired by you. It became a black hole of a lot of things I left unsaid. A lot of questions unanswered. A lot of warmth of a connection that I KNOW was there.
I wanted to tell you all about it. I want to also tell you how fucked up my life has been (and still is). And maybe tell you—I know how you felt now, when you were my age.
You look really proud posting photos of your girlfriend in Facebook. I genuinely assume/d you're happy and steadier now. She seems like some big shot me or [redacted] could never live up to. Heck, you might be even married by now. That is why, I could never send this message, we can't go through this whole ruckus again.
I genuinely hope you're happy. I carry with me all our memories, the good and bad ones. Even if I literally have no photo of us anymore. I probably only have the [redacted] Cookout ticket that you brought me to. They shaped me. Maybe it's the curse of the fact that you were my first love.
If you ever do see me anywhere, say hi will ya? I have bad eyesight. I also wouldn't probably recognize you anymore. You barely have photos in your profile (that are public, at least).
I'd love to hear how you're happy. Because knowing that perhaps could remind me that if you got out of that shit, then maybe I could too.
A drive to [redacted] or [redacted] with a cold, flavored beer would've been nice with all these word vomit fr. But for now, cheers to you—and the memory of you 🍻
I'm sure Doge and Pusheen are watching us from meme heaven. /ey-mehn/