Three days later, I find a scribbled letter
in my locker.
I was getting too close to you.
I don’t want a real girlfriend.
I love you, Maisie, so much,
but I don’t want to love you.
Funny.
There aren’t any Kahlil Gibran poems
for those sentiments.
Gino has written: I have this bad habit
of falling for someone
then leaving them;
I’m just like my no-good father,
who’s had three wives.
Don’t worry,
I won’t tell anyone how far we went,
I’m not that kind of a guy.
He adds, Please forgive me,
I’m never going to amount to anything …
and a lot of other pitiful-sounding sentences.
I have to stop reading,
because after all of that, it seems
the real reason he wrote the letter
was to make me feel sorry for him.
What a jerk: him.
What a bigger jerk: me.