Dear Bridget,

The warmth of your hand still burns in the palm of mine. Do you remember, as well as I do, sitting on the stage in the gym, our wobbly legs dangling over the side? Your cheek warmed and melded to mine as I so confusedly kissed it. And your glances remained sideways as candy tainted our breath, though our mouths, to this day, have never met each other. You were my first and I think of you whenever I publicly display—publicly perform—my affections. There have been several hundred since you, but none have given me the ambition you have.

We lasted but a moment but only we know how long that moment became. You are not the only moment of which I am made, but even stars can exist in the shade. Please, let me tell you how saddened I was to learn of your brother’s passing, but now that you have a family, I wonder if you still need my happiness. Great mystery surrounds us, and I would always wonder back in high school if you counted me as yours, too. Great mystery still surrounds us, and I would prefer to keep it that way. Our laughter travels this timeline. You never led me astray, and really, what more can I say? Without you, I would not have known what I do so well.