I thought you deleted your instagram, because of what happened to you. I can’t blame you for blocking me. I’d hate to see me too.
My best friend keeps tabs on you. Every year I ask how you’re doing. “I love her” she says. I do too.
I won’t assume you’ve cried over me, but know that I’ve cried over you.
The first time was the Friday. The one after Thanksgiving, when my mother called to tell me he was sick. Because I was grateful to know you existed. Because you were there, and he had love. Because you seemed smart and kind and capable. I had so many dreams where I hugged you and thanked you.
The second time, a year and a half later. Because you deserved better. You deserve better than the cards that were dealt to you. I don’t say that to paint you as a victim — I will never look down on you. I will never take you off the pedestal I put you on that November.
It was so hot outside. It was June. I’ll never forget where I was when my sister showed me the post. Marcello stepped out of the car and I began to shake and cry. I was so angry. I think I will always be. In the photo you were smiling. Strong. I prayed for you all the time.
My mom and his are still in touch. That’s how I found out you two kept traveling. And then, through friends, that you had broken up.
I’m sorry for the pain my ghost caused you.
I hope you never read this, so you don’t have to see my name. I heard you left Miami, and I’m glad. I left too.
Still, I have this fantasy that one day many years from today we will be in the same place at the same time and I will come up to you and I hope you don’t hate it. I hope you’ll agree to lunch. And if you don’t I’d still thank you like I did all those times in my sleep. And if you did maybe we’d have a few drinks and laugh and I’d definitely cry. We don’t have to be friends and we’d never have to speak again. But maybe we could and we might.
very beautiful alexa