May:

I never told you, but I loved everything about you. I loved the smell of sweat on your chest and the little hairs on your chin and your cut off t shirts that smelled like you when you let me wear them to bed. I loved the way you kissed me in that car at red lights in the middle of the night, and in the back seat when our friends rode in the front. I loved the taste of your lips and how chapped they got when we spent too much time together. I loved the goofy smile and the sexy smirk. I loved the hotel rooms.

June:

I never told you, but I liked the way you pulled my hair. I liked the way we could be silent in the car and it still felt like home to me. I liked the color of your eyes and the pictures you took on my phone that you said I shouldn’t let anyone else see. I liked falling asleep next to you.

July:

I never told you, but I hated everything about you. I hated the silence in the car when we drove around trying pull conversation pieces out of the broken sky. I hated the soft sighs as we faced away from each other in bed, naked and cold. I hated the absence of your voice on any given day. I hated waking you up with head. I hated your morning breath and your cold heart.

I never told you, but impossible for you to love anyone. The only thing you will ever love is the feeling a woman gives you when the lights are out.

Next time you drive by my place, don’t stop. Let your hand hang out of the window like it used to do, free of responsibility. Let your hair, grown out and wild, whip your face without care. Don’t you dare stop and look for me. My light is no longer on for you. My heart is no longer a revolving door. And if you ask how I have been, there will only be this letter to answer you.