All of Last Summer...

Dear John,

I can hardly stand how oddly sad I've felt tonight.
Just a slight pang in my gut.
Every time I hear a certain melody or pitch in someone's voice....
At the restaurant, for the entire duration of my 3 hour swing shift, I kept suddenly feeling you. And it made my stomach hurt. And it made my chest clench tightly.
I tried pushing you away, focus on getting more beef jus or prosecco.
Then I'd hear the music again...
Then I'd smell the cigarettes from the back porch...
All of last summer...

Because we're both always too poor for our palettes: one entree with a bottle of wine in the warm summer evening air.
You and me, smoking cigarettes throughout the entire meal -- stretching out the meal like the fleeting time we had left 'together' -- one or the other, always on the verge of burning out.

How it hurts that you haven't called me back. Or written me an e-mail. Or sent me a text. Or gotten on instant messenger. It makes me so angry with you, to think of you ignoring me.

You are so lovely.
And you will always be lonely.