Dear Dennis, I still think of you.
Dear Andre, I saw you kiss her. I haven’t looked back.
Dear Patrick, you’re just too young.
Dear Eric, I said horrible things about you. Your teeth are fine, it’s the rest of you I don’t like.
Dear Greg, thank you for the poem, for every single scar.
Dear William, I love you, simple. I like that we will never be we.
Dear Jay, the bruises fell off eventually.
Dear Michael, I’ll never be enough to fill the shoes that will one day stand at your side.
Dear Ben, I did read your letters. All of them.
Dear Freeman, I’ll never stop looking over my shoulder, boots laced, ready to run.
Dear Jon, I’ll always love you. You are all there ever was.
Dear Derek, there was no one thing, your everything is impossible.
Dear Eddie, we are refracting magnets. We will battle this to the end.
Dear Dennis, I still think of you.
Dear Ryan, I love you, simple. Sex under the streetlight was a delicious accident.
Dear Kevin, your kiss came too late. My lips were already dancing in the other room with Jon.
Dear Ethan, no.
Dear Joseph, I said you were too pretty. They said to try it anyway. They are fools.
Dear Avery, you are the definition of unrequited.
Dear Skippy, I’m sorry about the whiskey and the tampon. I’m sorry I never called you.
Dear Nate, until you mocked my smile, I was yours.
Dear Marc, I like your wife too much. Is your brother still single?
Dear Mitch, you were my biggest mistake. I’m sure that only makes your smile more sinister.
Dear Allen, while you poured Guinness for Patrick, I pictured you bending me over the bar.
Dear Graham, I’d have swallowed that bullet.
Dear Miguel, you said a man never forgets his first redhead. What color are my eyes?
Dear Dennis, I still think of you.
Dear Francis, I’d have broken you in half.
Dear Chris, I’m sorry I stalked you. I’d try to forget me, too.
Dear Dex, I can’t be with you again. Just accept it.
Dear Dr. Matthews, no. I’ll have you fired. Again.
Dear Aiden, I wrote a poem about you. It’s everyone’s favorite. I find it trite.
Dear Logan, I think I finally stopped wanting you.
Dear Cynthia, I was drunk. I thought you were, too.
Dear Ricky, maybe it was the red dress or because I was fifteen. Your brother married my mother on the same day I first touched your cock. Maybe you’re still a pervert. Call me.
Dear Jeff, I was your biggest mistake.
Dear Robert, you are more than beer and vomit. You are more than I could ever put into a poem.
Dear Dennis, I still think of you.
Dear Dennis, I keep your photos in a box. Each one, still in its frame.
