Unsent Love Letter, C. 2020

To a Yale girl

Just so you’re aware, in professional writing, I like to include exclamation points at the end of my sentences to make sure it is clear my voice is non-aggressive.

I am, once again, buzzing on coffee and avoiding an assignment which I must finish soon and is already one day late.

It is very important to me that you don’t acknowledge this, and that you’re aware

It is very important that we built Minecraft gardens and castles online late at night

It is very important to me that we met at the orchard and before you came

It is very important that I found a five-leaf clover pacing on the grass waiting for you

I think I showed you but I don’t remember if I put it in the car first

It is very important to me that we stayed together for such a long time that night

It didn’t feel like you were getting bored but maybe you were nervous too

The frogs were making noises by the pond by the willow tree

I wanted to kiss you and touch you and all that

It made me nervous and I wanted you to like me and think I was smart and cool

That willow tree and pond always reminded me of ghosts

I think I went there with a Ouija board once when I was younger and got spooked

I wonder what you were thinking then, when we were talking

I tried to watch Paper Moon with you over zoom, but it wouldn’t work

We watched the Artist and neither of us liked it much

I remember texting you that things reminded me of you whether or not they really did

Because I wanted your attention. I’m not sure why.

I wasn’t acting like myself, I was figuring out a lot of new issues but I think you were too

Everyone was, but you felt like a partner for a moment and I’m taking the time to think about it now and I usually put off feelings like this until I forget about them.

I went to the drive-in with some other friends, and you texted me to go camping with you in a few weeks

I thought you were so beautiful! I sent screenshots of your texts to friends to show off

One said “Cute” I remember.

Far too clinical far too professional far too sterile far too dry far too wandering far too unfocused

We stargazed over the lake after the duckling flipped upside down and ate the fish

We cheered for him

Dangled legs over the dock and walked back in the dark

Woods on both sides, sinister and bright protestant church in the sticks

Sat on the bench and endured mosquitoes hoping I would make a move

I hoped you would make a move

Faced forward the whole time, talked about stars, the duckling

I saw fireworks and you’d miss them

Lights over the water

More mosquitoes and nerves

Next morning I was covered in bumps

I kissed your lips finally and then your neck—inappropriate for that moment

I said “Never make me kiss you first again” and you laughed and said “Okay” and rested your cheek on my collarbone

We went home. I didn’t see you again after that. Too many nerves maybe? You found someone else a few weeks later and I wasn’t angry but I didn’t know what to do so I never texted you again. I wasn’t in love, was never bent up over it.

Certainly sad, but not too sad.

All this is true: You were beautiful and brilliant and worth more than what I've come up with here. I never did get to know you that well. If it wasn’t strange to say now, years later, I’d just tell you. It’s important to me that I write it somewhere in case my memory fails my memory one day: You walked with me through international loneliness and horror, walked around the lake and through the orchards, talked about frogs and mountains and Harvard and Yale, sat in the dark and rested with me by the old willow by the pond on some firefly night in June or July. It meant the world to me then, and I didn’t forget. I hope you’re alright. I hope I helped you too.