I could say that I don't know why I'm writing this letter like everyone else does, but I decided that if I said that I would just be kidding myself. Because I do know why I'm writing this letter. It's because I miss you.

And you don't know how long it's been since I've admitted that to anyone, even to myself. Because I wouldn't. I don't exactly know why I thought of you the other day- I mean, it was really a weird thing. Because those roses that you sent me- a year ago from the 23rd in two days- those pale, white roses, ravishing so brightly it hurt my eyes just to look at them because they were so beautiful- they're still sitting on my dresser in my room. It wasn't the roses themselves really that was so beautiful- it was just the fact that they were really from you. And I had proof, with the card that read 'Josh' in dark pen. I still have that card too, tucked in a shoebox in my hope chest where I keep all the little tidbits of my life I can manage to hold onto.

And I can remember when I got those roses. You went out of your way to call the flowershop where I worked to order them for me. My parents, who deliver all of our flower shop's flowers, brought them home to me, while I sat at this same desk on this same chair in front of my old computer. When I saw them, I couldn't believe my eyes. I thought they were just a left over delivery where no one had been home. But I was wrong. They were for me. I saw the card, along with the half dozen roses, and when I saw that they were to me I could barely keep myself from breaking down in tears. My mother said I was smiling so big that she thought I was going to pass out.

I bragged about them to my friends, and to my relatives- to the entire population of this town that I've hated so much for so long. And even though I couldn't see you, I couldn't touch you, I still could feel you there with me. I loved your sense of humor- that was always the thing I loved the most about you.

Loved about you the most.. I remember you telling me you loved me. And I didn't believe you, I didn't know what to say to that. So I said,

"Yeah, I like you too."

And I regretted that for so long after you left me.

After you left me. You left me. I never thought I'd be able to say that. You were my best friend for so long, even before that, that I never, ever could picture us not talking. But it just- stopped. And it killed me, Josh, it really killed me. I would never let you know that though. I would never let you know that I cried for hours after you'd forgotten it was my birthday. I would never let you know how much I just longed to hold you. I would certainly never, ever let you know how much I think about you, even now.

I thought you were my first love, but maybe it was just a version of love. I guess I've had a long time to think about it, and go over all of the options that I'd try to find to make myself feel even a little better. But it hurt me, and it still does. I haven't talked to you in over four months. Four goddamn months. We used to talk everynight. I can't even remember what your voice sounds like, Josh. I can't even remember you voice.

You still live a state away from me. You're still there, I know you are. I wonder sometimes if you think about me. Maybe that's the sad thing about the internet- it turns your mind upside down and inside out so that you think what you hear on it is reality, but it's really just fantasy. Maybe that's what it is. All I know is that- whatever we had, a relationship - even though you never classified me as your girlfriend, and you seemed to hate the term when I even mentioned it - whatever we had died a long time ago.

I guess the roses you sent to me, those white angelic roses, nearly a year old are a metaphor for that. A metaphor for your relationship.

And the more I think about it, the sadder it makes me feel. Because I know that you've forgotten everything that we used to have. Everything that I loved for so long.

Every rose has it's thorns, Josh. Even you and I.

.tuesday.