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It was a bad idea from the start. I knew it. You knew it.

We did it anyway.

It was a ridiculously fun couple of weeks. Late nights out at bars. Illicitly making out in hallways. Causing all sorts of little dramas just for the hell of it. It was better than being lonely anyway.

I loved to see you watching my window as you walked by. It was a little thing to look forward to, knowing you wanted to see me, too. But I saw something in you, that something that fired off when we were in the same room, that made me think just maybe, this could be very very good.

It could’ve been a perfect summer romance. Except you had a girlfriend. And feelings complicate a good thing, don’t they? And you were too scared to handle it, anyway. You know, that whole being alone in the meantime thing. But you smelled like my grandpa and trouble, so I continued to make an absolute fool out of myself for a little longer. Oh well.

I still wonder what it is you’ve done that was so wrong. Who told you couldn’t be forgiven? What happened that you couldn’t make right?

Maybe it was just too many cowboy movies.

I hope someday you can forgive yourself for the things you’ve done that you’re convinced have left you nothing but a lifetime of repentance, your own self-imposed hell on earth where you’ve trapped yourself under a yoke willingly.

You may be a sinner, but it doesn’t mean you don’t deserve your own small piece of happiness. I hope you let yourself have it.