November 17th each year, I think of you. Happy Birthday.

I let you go for foolish reasons. I was a young guy, infatuated with another girl and infatuated with her convertible. It was stupid. I’d had a lot of girlfriends and in my immaturity I expected you to be like they were: always ready to take me back when I felt ready to let them. You didn’t come running back. You were smart.

I don’t think I would have been good for you, but I know you would have been good for me. Please know that my love didn’t go away, but I hope your life now is happy, with a man that gave you what I couldn’t.