I write to you knowing that you will never read this. I know I walked away when I shouldn't have. This letter is my attempt at distilling the best times we had into a single perfect moment. It's funny but I always loved you most when you were angry. Angry with me.
When you said “I love you” even when I think you really meant it; it seemed, I don't know, somehow hollow. But the time after we ate at your mother's house and I started a fight in the car. I still remember how you said you wanted to call me a son of a bitch but that would be an insult to sons of bitches. I thought “she must really love me, and she's funny. That's me all over I guess. I'm never really sure that an emotion exists within someone until I see it's polar opposite.
Remember the time when we were standing on that little footbridge near downtown by the newly installed sundial and fountain? Yeah, the time I should have kissed you and I didn't. You craned your neck and leaned against my chest and I just thought you were cold or tired. I could feel your curly hair piercing through my T-shirt introducing itself to my chest hair. My chest hair understood immediately, just took a while for the brain to get the memo. I will never experience a more seductive moment in my life. I still think you knew that when you did it. I was just a coward. I felt like a kiss from me would defile you somehow.
But I'd have chances o' plenty to defile you. You'll never know how much I appreciated your willingness for sexual experimentation. How you helped me handle my juvenile insecurities by allowing me to believe I could fuck the memory of other men out of you. You went through the rigmarole of sexual adventure so I could communicate my desires without the shame of speaking the words. I know this will disappoint you, but those are words I still cannot say. Reminds me a little of our last fight when you hurled the most sustained stream of insults I'd ever heard. That's to this day, mind you. I doubt I could replicate even a few seconds of it. I do remember the last one though.
“You kinky motherfucker.” Nothing you said before or after ever hurt so bad. Those words stab right into the heart of my shame. Still do.
I don't want you to think I need you to apologize, because I don't. I'm simply cataloging my strongest memories of you.