"More than a stunning debut. It is the announcement of a bold new literary voice"
—Stephen Chbosky, author of The Perks of Being a Wallflower

I finally told someone a bit of the history between us. Not much, only about how I didn’t mean to fall in love with you and how our relationship was something new to me. I almost cried when I first started confessing. Can you blame me? Sometimes I sit and wonder if you still think of me. I want to reach out to you, but I don’t want you to know it’s me. I’ve resorted to this, posting a letter to you that will never be seen by you. It’s almost poetic, isn’t it? My love for you and, ultimately, my short-lived heartbreak was poetic, too. I don’t know what else to say. Fuck you, maybe?