Seventy Ninth

Dear You,

This is a public letter.
I hope that doesn't bother you.
You'll probably never read it anyway.

Thank you for everything.
I know I said it, long ago, so very long ago that it's slipped your mind, or maybe you've kept the paper. Maybe you've kept it, I don't know. Maybe it's stolen away, somewhere in your room, gathering dust, or stored safely in a drawer, and you'll keep it forever. Regardless of where it is, it retains its truth, and I continue to thank you. For everything.
I meant it then.
I mean it now.

Always.

Seventy Eighth

"She's one of those girls," he said, "She's either a very protective, proud virgin, or someone who defiantly, decidedly chose to lose her virginity. Woke up one morning and said, 'Yeah. Today. You.'"

I laughed. I don't know why. I found it hilarious, and dead-on for her. It wasn't meant as an insult, and I didn't interpret it as one, either. Just spot on. And admirable, in a way. And attractive too, in another. But I did laugh. I did.
I don't know why.
I don't know what that says about me.