My phone pings again. This time, instead of sending a few dozen roses or a box of Vosges chocolate truffles, Leo has sent me an image. It’s a hand-written page with the words Dear Diary at the top along with a date.
Dear Diary,
They say if you love something, set them free.
If they love you back, they’ll return.
If not, then they were never yours to begin with.
The fact that there’s no deadline makes this bullshit task impossible.
She loves me. And I love her.
So why is this taking so long?
I wish she would call me.
Somewhere between laughter and pain, I’m left staring at his words. The image is erased by an incoming alarm. A reminder.
Interview with Derrick
Noon