Dear Jason,



I miss you. I shouldn’t, I really shouldn’t, because you were the one who broke it off with me. You dumped me because you were cheating on me. So, what I want you to do is go back and read the previous sentence again. And then do it again. And then try and NOT feel bad for me. I loved you sincerely, and I thought, really thought that you were the one. Were you scared of what I would say to you if and when I found out? Would you think I would have just dumped you first? Is this because of your pride? The need that you and every other guy on the planet share to be “the man” in the relationship? I would have just talked it out with you, and bottom line: I would have stayed with you. Although no girl should stay with a guy who is cheating on her, you’re different. You were always different.




Remember when we first met? It was in November. It was cold. It was at a school football game. I was up in the bleachers with my friends, joking around, and occasionally closing my eyes, and lifting my head toward the sky, letting the freezing breeze nip at my face and pick my hair up. It seemed like I had just gotten there when the final horn sounded. The game was over. My friends and I left the bleachers and headed our separate ways to go home. I stopped at a voice that called my name. It was my brother. I said hey back and then turned around. And that was the first time I saw you. You were wearing one of those jackets that hunters and lumberjacks wear; the ones with fur on the inside and plaid on the outside. It was red and black and white plaid. Your hands were in the pockets of your halfway-sagging jeans, and the cuffs just overlapped the logo on your Timberlands. I looked right at you, and you looked right at me. And I was certain about one thing. It may have been the one single thing that I was 100% sure about in my entire life, and I don’t think I’ll be as sure about anything in my years to come: I was in love with you. The way you stood with your head half-tilted downwards and your hands in your pockets told me that you were shy. The way your eyes analyzed everything around you told me that you were intelligent. And the way you smiled at me when I looked at you told me that you had to be mine. My brother led the way to the car, and you followed, slowing your pace down a bit so you could walk next to me without actually looking like you were walking next to me. You still had your hands in your pockets and your head was still tilted down, but you said, “Hi. My name’s Jason.” And at the sound of your voice, my heart imploded. You were beautiful. You still are beautiful. You made me happy. You made me blush. You made my hands shake. You made me nervous.




The first time we almost had sex, my hands were shaking. Every part of me was shaking. You took my hands, the hands that always used to hold me, and the hands that were always warm, no matter what season. You made me look into your eyes, and you asked me if I trusted you. I said yes. Big mistake? I think so, too. You kissed me, you lips feeling soft like the clouds we used to gaze at in the summer time. You held me so firmly in your arms, like you were afraid of losing me. You were literally two inches away, but I stopped you. I told you I wasn’t ready. I told you my aunt was in the hospital, and I was way too worried about her to be running around, satisfying my own selfish wants. That was the second time I told you. I told you before we almost had sex, too. You held me in your arms, and told me that she was going to be just fine. I couldn’t concentrate on watching the movie that was in the DVD player, so you talked to me. I cried some more. You sat me up, and then told me I needed to stop thinking such negative things. I let you kiss me. And then I let you kiss me again. I even let you carry me to your bedroom. And I let you take off all my clothes. I almost let you in for real, Jason. But I didn’t. I realize now why I didn’t. Was that just a distraction? Just something to get my mind off of my aunt? Did you just want me to shut up so you could do whatever you wanted? Did it really mean nothing to you? Because it meant everything to me. You meant everything to me.
But not anymore. When you said it was over, it felt like you ripped out my heart and drop-kicked it like a football. It was hard to sleep. I was always wondering what you were doing. Who you were with. If you were thinking of me. And now I know what you’re doing. (Well, who you’re doing is more accurate). I know who you’re with. And I know you couldn’t be thinking of me, because, well, that would be awkward to be yelling and moaning my name when you’re doing the deed with her. Stacey. You think I don’t know her? She is my God brother’s brother’s ex-girlfriend. And I should warn you now: the same thing you did to me, she’s going to do to you. She cheated on my God brother’s brother with some random guy she started talking to at a bar. You’re gonna get your heart ripped out and drop-kicked like a football. And then you’re gonna find it hard to sleep. Then you’re gonna start thinking about me.




And I’ll still be thinking about you. Because when you love someone, even if you aren’t together anymore, you still just care about them. I don’t know why that is, and I can’t explain it, but it just. Is. When you really love someone, even if you’re not with them anymore, you want what’s best for them. If you just called me, I would be there within minutes, Jason, because I still love you. I never stopped. Unlike you. I never stopped thinking about you, unlike you did. I never stopped caring about you, unlike you did.




I take it you could learn some lessons from me, Jason.






Sincerely,
Cassie