the aftermath of us ✓

letter nine

monday 2 (mar)

dear trevor,

lately, i've been fussing over a lot of minor things like cups being placed in the dishwasher wrong. it bothers the hell out of granny, the fact that i'm bothered. she doesn't do a very good job at hiding her annoyance but it's alright.

reed has somehow put up with my bullshit. i'm not saying that we're together or something. not at all. even though you and i have been done for about a month now, i would still feel guilty if i dated someone else. like i'm cheating on you.

i wish i didn't feel like that.

do you remember the first time we met? because i do. in vivid detail.

i was in a coffee shop i don't remember the name of. though i've forgotten the name of it, i can remember the smell of burning wood over in the fireplace a few feet from my table. i was sitting alone when you walked in. i remember you tugging at the hem of your neatly buttoned jacket. snow fluttered around you as the door closed behind.

now, it wasn't like i'd laid eyes on an angel. i wasn't absolutely star struck by the introduction to your existence. but the way the light hit your eyes and how the snow on your shoulders glittered-- although, admittedly, it did look a bit like dandruff--, i couldn't help but stare a little longer than i should have.

and you noticed.

you caught my eye and sent me a small smile. you walked over and leaned against my table. you said hello and how are you? i just smiled back, not knowing what to say.

then you told me you liked my eyes and i tuned into your minty breath. my smile got wider. you walked away to buy coffee and came back with your drink and a cookie.

you and i shared the cookie and at the end, our phone numbers. we shared cookies all the time after that.

i miss that time.

love,

leslie