I want you to know that the way I ignored you the other night was perhaps childish, especially considering the progress I thought we had previously made, but also that I hadn't prepared myself for what to do in that situation, and had I seen you from a distance I would have made things much less obvious. I want you to know your messages are confusing. I want to tell you the reason I asked you to go with me to Exit Review; how I had been waiting at least a month to ask you that; how I had a dream a while back in which I found myself alone there with no friends and an ex-girlfriend whose portfolio was on display for everyone except for me; how I woke from that dream forcefully and anxiously, well before I had to be awake for anything, just sitting in bed wondering if that's how it would be. I want to tell you how a few days ago two old friends messaged me out of the blue, and I couldn't help myself from telling them both how much I miss them, not in the way that you tell someone when you cannot think of anything else to say, but in the way that you did not want to tell them but it somehow made its way out of your heart, through your fingers, and onto their phones. I want you to know I cried after that. I want to tell you about a girl I met recently and how when I learned her last name the second thing I thought of was how your names (first, middle, and last) had the exact same number of letters. I want to tell you the first thing I thought was that she had one of the same names and the same initials as the previously mentioned ex. I want to tell you when she wore a red jacket in church she looked like you from the back where I was taking communion. I want you to know that nothing is going on between us. I want to buy you this book I found, because of so many reasons that would require no explanation. I want to send you text messages every time I see an illustration you would like. I want someone to play basketball with, just for fun. I want to get all of this out, to never again have to feel like it is pent up inside of me, to stop writing things like this.
I know I cannot have all the things I want. I know it.
I am sorry.