Do you remember when we were kids, and while getting together was forbidden we'd do it anyway? Remember how fun it was when I'd swing by, you'd hop in the seat next to me, and we'd be off to meet friends? I can still hear the laughter. Remember later in life when you'd playfully get in the way of my love interests? Those kisses, drunk, red, dripping. Those were good times. I brought you everywhere, introduced you to everyone.
But then somewhere along the way, you picked me up. I hopped in your seat, and we went for a ride ? a very long ride. We drove far away from that laughter, the kisses, the novelty. I don't know how long we drove, but it went fast, and I can count the miles on my face. When I look to the road ahead, it looks too much like the road behind to keep going with you.
Please understand, I never wanted to have write this letter. But I need you to pull over and let me off. I can't see you any more, at least not now, and if we do get together again, I'm driving. Me. You're just too damn fast.
I wish things could be different, better, but they can't. I can't. Too many mornings, I've wiped you from my lips, towel streaked red. We've been out far too long, and all I smell is vinegar and guilt.
You will not be forgotten, nor missed.
Me.
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