"dear blue eyes, not that you’re going to be reading this, but dr hunt in psychology suggested i do this to make me feel better. who knows. but it can’t hurt because you’re not going to read this, right? which means i should write everything. so here it goes. i was halfway through my first year of my master’s program when we met. i was spending a christmas away from home so i could work on my schoolwork, and i was getting out of my room at the request of a friend of mine. we went to a bar and i was perfectly fine getting a drink on my own, but … oh, why does this matter? that year and a half? it was amazing. but then you had to go and ruin it when i got my degree and got accepted to work on my ph.d. at emory. you proposed. but we wouldn’t have worked then. married at twenty, when i was about to move back to atlanta for six years and you were still an undergrad at u of a. what would we have done? driven an hour and a half one way just to see each other for a weekend, to have the first six years of our marriage be determined by exams and papers and dissertations and research opportunities? you might not have thought about it when you asked, but i did and i knew we would have been doomed if we did that. i don’t think you actually understand it baby. i said ‘no’ for your sake as well as mine. but i guess that doesn’t change things now. those six years at emory were miserable. all the theses, dissertations, and experts in the world couldn’t tell me the one thing i’ve come to realize now. that i - oh, don’t make me? oh wait, you’re not making me do anything. this is all hypothetical. so, here it goes. i should have said ‘yes’. the chances of us being divorced by now would have been high, but i don’t think i’m getting another chance like this again. can’t say that i’ve had men lining up to be with me. that’s half of the reason why i wanted this job. i mean, it’s teaching, which i want to do, it’s my alma mater, and you’re here. i just … i’m sorry. i want things to go back to the way they were six years ago. i miss you, schmoopy. loveyours, munchkin.”

"dear blue eyes, not that you’re going to be reading this, but dr hunt in psychology suggested i do this to make me feel better. who knows. but it can’t hurt because you’re not going to read this, right? which means i should write everything. so here it goes. i was halfway through my first year of my master’s program when we met. i was spending a christmas away from home so i could work on my schoolwork, and i was getting out of my room at the request of a friend of mine. we went to a bar and i was perfectly fine getting a drink on my own, but … oh, why does this matter? that year and a half? it was amazing. but then you had to go and ruin it when i got my degree and got accepted to work on my ph.d. at emory. you proposed. but we wouldn’t have worked then. married at twenty, when i was about to move back to atlanta for six years and you were still an undergrad at u of a. what would we have done? driven an hour and a half one way just to see each other for a weekend, to have the first six years of our marriage be determined by exams and papers and dissertations and research opportunities? you might not have thought about it when you asked, but i did and i knew we would have been doomed if we did that. i don’t think you actually understand it baby. i said ‘no’ for your sake as well as mine. but i guess that doesn’t change things now. those six years at emory were miserable. all the theses, dissertations, and experts in the world couldn’t tell me the one thing i’ve come to realize now. that i - oh, don’t make me? oh wait, you’re not making me do anything. this is all hypothetical. so, here it goes. i should have said ‘yes’. the chances of us being divorced by now would have been high, but i don’t think i’m getting another chance like this again. can’t say that i’ve had men lining up to be with me. that’s half of the reason why i wanted this job. i mean, it’s teaching, which i want to do, it’s my alma mater, and you’re here. i just … i’m sorry. i want things to go back to the way they were six years ago. i miss you, schmoopy. loveyours, munchkin.”


i will go down with this ship and i won’t put my hands up and surrender there will be no white flag above my door i’m in love and always will be

i will go down with this ship 
and i won’t put my hands up and surrender 
there will be no white flag above my door 
i’m in love and always will be