This is not a love letter…

So don’t get all excited for nothing. Maybe I should write you one, to go with all the letters you’ve written me and folded into perfect little airplanes. But I never wrote you one before, and it would be seriously bad luck to start now.

Chris. Where are you? How did you not come home last night?

I don’t care where you went or what you’re doing; I just want to know if you’re okay. We all do. I mean, who does this? I’m starting to feel kind of weird. Desperate, if you want to know the truth. It’s like when I get a mosquito bite. You’re always telling me to leave it alone, but I can’t stop itching until it bleeds. Right now you’re my mosquito bite. Isn’t that romantic?

I thought I’d write and let you know what we’re doing to find you. Maybe it’ll help me figure out where you are. So until you turn up, this is an account. I know. That’s the unsexiest word ever. But if you want a sexy love letter, you’re going to have to come back home and get it.