Mel always swore to herself that she'd never fall for a girl who wrote her a love letter, but here she is, sitting in her apartment, her rain-soaked hair dripping onto an envelope addressed to her in Lindsay's soft, curvy handwriting. She carefully opens it, and unfolds the letter inside.
Dearest Melanie, [it says.]
I'm in Chicago--made it okay and all--and I was thinking of calling you, but I thought you might appreciate a piece of mail that wasn't a bill (haha). I've never been good at writing these kinds of things down, but this I want to document.
Here, I'll summarize it first: I love you.
I love the smell of your hair after you take a shower.
I love the little curviness of the corners of your mouth.
I love the way your lips purse when you're thinking of your next word to play in Scrabble.
I love the way your hips feel underneath my hands.
I love the way you taste, all over.
I love the softness in your eyes when you watch me dance like an idiot.
I love that even though I'm kind of an ass sometimes, you still keep me around.
I love that last night, you called me your "Princess Charming", and I love the scrunchy face you made when you said it.
I love every little thing about you.
I even love how much I miss you right now. Which is a lot.
And I love that when you read this, it will be closer to the time when I get home, so I can un-miss you.
So until we meet again, remember that I love you. Because I do.
She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand as she goes to her desk, pulls out an eight-and-a-half by eleven piece of paper and a ballpoint pen. Right in the middle of the paper, she writes,
I love you too.
She seals it in an envelope, addresses it, and walks it out to the mailbox at the end of her building, careful to not get it wet at all, and smiles when she drops it in.