Dear Luke,

According to popular opinion, guys do not appreciate letters that are sentimental, or letters that are longer than, say, a page. I’m afraid that this one will break both of those rules, although I will do my best to conform to the standard.

You see, I’m breaking up with you, and all of the conventional phrases seem to apply but not explain – and I do owe you an explanation. I’ve been thinking about it, too. This was not a hastily made decision. But it seemed like the more I thought about what I would try to say to you, the further from reality this undrafted letter drifted. Finally, about ten minutes ago, I sat down and started. This is a lot harder than I thought it would be, even for a girl who is obsessed with words.

So here’s the thing: I care about you. Really. A year ago, six months ago, I was 100% committed to making this work and 100% convinced that the writer was going to marry the cop and live happily ever after with a few kids and German Shepherds. It was a stupid yet comforting daydream. My mom met my dad at age fourteen, and I half-expected to live out the same story as hers. But thing about reality is, it always finds a way to steal your attention and shove you towards all of the thoughts that you don’t want to think and all of the facts that you don’t want to believe – the uncomfortable truths. This is one of them.

When all of this started, we were clumsy freshmen, brand new to high school and dating and making friends with the opposite sex. It was fun and lighthearted and good for both of us, I think, to be friends with automatic dance partners. That was, essentially, all that ever came of our relationship when we were freshmen, and that was totally okay.

Then I had to move, and life sucked. I made friends slowly, and I was selfish in clinging to our relationship because I wanted someone to belong to. (Note: I still have the penguin necklace that you gave me after the basketball game. For the longest time, I wore it every day, at school and on weekends and even in basketball practice. I don’t anymore, but I will never, ever get rid of that necklace.) That wasn’t the best thing for either of us. We never saw each other and we couldn’t be casual, funny friends like we were as freshmen. Still, we were determined. We got through a year of setbacks and disappointments, and we were still us.

This year, honestly, things have been better for me. My grades are up again, I have a group of people in every class that will talk to me, and soccer has been amazing. I am no longer in “the dip” of sophomore year. I have a life, surprisingly enough. Friends. A real team. All of the little things that I missed about my old school, and a few bonuses.

Basically, I’m ready to move on. As much as I have put into this relationship, it has taken a lot out of me, and I’m sure it has done the same to you. We have grown a lot, and apart, and with your family moving (I bet you knew I’d bring this up), neither of us can afford any more strain, any more tension to tie us to a past that is no longer accessible. I’m not intentionally hurting you. I’m being real with you. I’m depending on the slim chance that you can see the same things that I see, if not now, then in the future.

I don’t know, maybe you’ve thought about ending things with me but didn’t want to ruin anything on the off chance that we actually made it. Well, the chance is certainly off now, and I’m sorry, but I don’t think I will regret writing this letter. We are just teenagers, young, flighty creatures, fledglings that need to freewheel before we can build a nest. (I refuse to apologize for the metaphor. I realize that it’s sappy and contrived, but I’m learning, okay?)

One last thing: everyone says that when the girl asks the guy if they can still be friends, she doesn’t really mean it. But I do. I would love to be able to keep texting you and cheer you on at your senior homecoming (I’ve made it to the other three; it would be a crime if I missed the last one) and be able to chat without getting upset or sentimental or awkward. Quite simply, I like you and I probably won’t ever stop liking you, just in a different way. However, if you think it would be easier for you to sever all ties completely and never have to look me in the face again, that’s fine. I can accept that. I’m putting you through a lot with this letter, and honestly, I expect you to be mad at me, at least temporarily.

I do have one request. Don’t leave me hanging. Send me back something, even if it’s just three sentences. Please.

Love (because I do),


Marie