No idea. You seem fragile, smart. Why are you interested in anything I write? Also, you have beautiful legs but I can’t tell you that. Or maybe I could. Nevermind. I like writing you. The long conversations we have remind me of a better time. A long time ago. When I cared. Now I want to cry. One day, we’ll meet. I don’t know what will happen then. Maybe I’ll miss you in the meanwhile. Maybe I’ll give up. I’m also fragile, you know.