It is difficult to forgive someone you’ve never met.

To Anonymous,

We have never met each other, but I suspect we know quite a bit about each other. Five years ago you met the love of my life and you pursued him. He holds a lot of the blame too for the betrayal and for the aftermath of pain that followed and still twinges in odd moments even to this day. He holds a lot of blame. But so do you, you who knew he was taken and selfishly decided to pursue him anyways. You who knew what pain you had caused and continued to try to take and take and take. I feel some pity for you now, knowing that you got nothing but loneliness and misery from it too. I know you suffered for t his. But what kind of woman are you, who would poach on another woman’s man? Where is your self-respect? Where is your honor?

Now, I look back on that time and I must give thanks as well. For if my (now) husband and I had not gone through such a difficult period, our separation would not have bore the fruits that it did. We would not have had to re-evaluate so much, we would not have learned so much, and we ultimately would not have become nearly so strong as we are now. Our relationship would have faltered, and even if it had lead to marriage it would have easily broken. But now I have faith. Now I have trust. Now I have a depth of love I never knew was possible. And so while that time was a time of pain, it was also the best thing we could have gone through and I do not regret it. It made us who we are today.

So in the end, all I really want to be able to do is forgive you. I have tried many times, but it is difficult to forgive someone you’ve never met. I wish I could meet you, to say these words to you, and then to forgive you and finally find release.


Dad...Please don’t leave me.

Dear Dad,
As the prodigal child that could do no wrong in your eyes, you’ve always justified and made excuses for my actions and behaviors. So much so, that even I’m starting to believe my own lies.

You’re not the emotional type and don’t understand my emotional ways. In the past few years though, you’ve delicately tried to ease my depression and anxiety-ridden woes. You did it the only way you knew how … money.

My whole life you’ve bailed me out from every situation I’ve turned into an utter catastrophe. Or you’ve protected me from getting too deep into trouble. You’ve invested thousands of dollars into me. Unfortunately, I wasn’t brought up to be grateful and appreciative. Instead, I’ve come to selfishly expect those extensions of monetary donations and bailouts.

I’m so desperate to make you proud, yet am terrified you’ll see me for who I really am and reject me. My pathological lying is out of control just to keep up your impression of me as “the good daughter”.

I’ve become so dependent on you. We haven’t always gotten along; in fact we butt heads a lot when I was younger. You secretly wished I had been a boy and made me fulfill your dreams to make me the same star athlete you had once been. You were disappointed and uninterested when my love was music. But even when we were at our worst, I still fiercely craved your approval.

I’m petrified of you dying because only then will I finally know what it’s like to feel loss and suffer through something that you can’t help me out of.

Everyone else calls me out on my shenanigans. You make me feel like I haven’t done anything wrong and that it’s someone else’s fault. This theory hasn’t been healthy for my mental wellness, but at times has been the only false sense of confidence I’ve had.

You’ve never said “I love you” and I keep longing for the day that you do. I’ve learned to see through the things you DO say and translate those to how you feel about me.

Please don’t leave me. The day you leave this Earth, so will the smoke and mirrors surrounding me. I’m scared to death of how I will be revealed to the world when you are no longer here to protect me.

I’m sorry for all the lies. And I’m sorry for not telling you all of this sooner. But you’re the only stable male figure that’s ever been in my life and I love you.

Your Daughter

Mail letters online!

Here's something neat that I want to share with everyone - an easy way to mail letters if you aren't the type to write them out and head to the post office for a stamp.

Check out this site. Now you can send a tangible letter straight through the internet.

If convenience has been holding you back...consider this idea!

I hope everyone is ready for a lovely Thanksgiving holiday. I know that I am.

P.S. Come back tomorrow. I will be posting a letter to kick off the holiday weekend.

I want to trust doctors again.

Dear Cleveland Clinic and Kaiser Permanente (and all others who failed to do their job),

It’s the night before I go in for yet another procedure, where I have strangers poke and prod me with metals, and cameras, and dyes. Where I trust my body in the hands of people I really don’t know, hoping that they don’t treat me like I’m just another malfunctioning piece of anatomy. It’s been a fifteen yearlong journey...and I’m writing because I’m tired. I’m so very tired. See, had things been handled differently 15 years ago, I may not be having yet another procedure. I may not be as tired as I feel today.

Fifteen years ago. It seems so long ago. And yet, I remember the day like it was yesterday. I was 17. I was vomiting with a high fever and doctors were staring at me in wonder. I was just a baby and I remember some male doctor (whom I’d never had before) ask my mother to leave the room so that he could make sure that whatever was wrong wasn’t a “female issue.” I was a very Catholic girl, a devout virgin with a fear of sex that did not plague any of my friends who were actually having sex, and yet, the mystery of my symptoms meant I needed a gynecological exam. That was the beginning of a long, long, long line of doctor’s who (bless their hearts) wanted to think they knew the answer. I remember the ambulance trip I took from that office to The Cleveland Clinic. I remember vomiting while in a moving vehicle. It was surreal. I couldn’t understand how I wasn’t at home, with my mother’s hand on my forehead, on my bathroom floor. What a mystery it was. What a mystery I was...and all medical mysteries find their way to CCF. I remember the ultrasound, the doctors whispering, “Do you see it? No, I don’t see it. Do you see it?” as if I was not in the room, as if I could not hear them. I was 17, and that was a very, very scary moment. And I don’t think they realized that, cause for them it was more was the thrill of finding something odd in someone’s body. I may have been a frightened girl, but to them I was purely a medical conundrum. Sometimes the person gets forgotten in the diagnosis and this is where I first felt that...I realized I wasn’t looked at as a complex human being, but rather a scientific, medical specimen.

The mystery unfolded in this diagnosis: a solitary kidney with a UPJ obstruction (a severe infection on top of a complex anatomical scenario.) And this is the moment where all of you (Kaiser, CCF, and others) changed my life forever. And I think you did it, like you do every day, without probably ever looking back on it. You collectively made a decision that changed the course of my life. In light of suggestions from some CCF doctors to follow up with surgery, the unanimous decision was to treat the infection, and have me follow up with a nephrologist. Kaiser doctors secured my mother’s heart by telling her that surgery wasn’t necessary. And I followed up with Dr. M. (I’ll spare your name, sir...but I hold you most responsible).

I saw Dr. M for the next five years, and despite the fact that I continued to have severe bouts of pain and numerous ER visits that kept directing me back to you, you repeatedly told me that everything was normal. “Yes, you spill protein in your urine, yes you have pain...but everything is okay” (although spilling protein is not okay, and we all know pain is not okay.) Dr. M, I’m not sure if you were being negligent. I’m not sure if you really believed there was nothing wrong. I’m not sure I have any idea what you really thought, honestly. But I do know this: I trusted you. I trusted you as most teenagers and young adults trust doctors—you are the educated, gifted, dedicated people who are committed to saving lives and we are meant to trust that. So never, ever did I imagine in those five years that my kidney function was being severely damaged by the condition that you and others said was stable. Never, ever did I think I would hear words like Stage Four Chronic Kidney Disease.

Is it worth it to go into the details of how my life has been affected by your decisions? Yep. It is. I was an active actress and director who was actually pretty successful in Cleveland. With my diagnosis, I couldn’t get health insurance because, well you know how those pre-existing conditions work--a solitary kidney with a UPJ obstruction doesn’t last too long on the cutting board of insurance lenders. But I was getting by. I was on tour, following my dreams with theater, in love. Life was great. But one little trip to an ER while on tour in Cincinnati (with the same symptoms I had had numerous times before) found me to be in renal failure. I needed immediate surgery. It’s kind of ironic--that doctor scolded my mother and my partner for having ever let my condition get to this point (as if it was their fault.) I could go on and on about the medical bills I had to pay for 5 years after that surgery...but money means nothing next to the reality of how my health and life have been affected. I have had 3 surgeries since then—two minor, one major. I have had to get a job that gives me the best health insurance possible and it turns out that it’s not really what I want to do, but do because of my need for good benefits. I’ve been faced with the bitter reality that pregnancy is too serious a risk because of the stress it would put on my single kidney. There’s probably a lot more. But really, the kicker is this: the one kidney I have that was functioning at 80% when I was 17, now functions less than half of that. I currently have a GFR of 30 (ish, give or take a few numbers depending on my health) and in the past 3 years it has declined at a rapid pace. Once it hits 20, dialysis and a kidney transplant are on the table. And this, doctors, could all have been prevented had you decided to do things differently.

So...what do I want from you? Why am I writing this letter? It’s not like you have a magic wand that can make it all better. And legally a lawsuit isn’t possible because we’ve past the statute of limitations. What do I want?

I want to trust doctors again. I want to go into this procedure tomorrow and feel like I’m in the hands of people who won’t make the same mistakes that other doctors have made before. I want to know that regardless of the medical journey that lies ahead of me, I have doctors who are going to do everything in their power to protect me...who will work proactively, not reactively. I want you to hear my story, not because my story is so unique or important, but because maybe it will make you consider the guidance you give other patients so they don’t end up facing unnecessary medical journeys like my own.

I want to forgive you. I want to move on. I want to feel like I’m more than this disease when I walk into your offices. I want you to know who I am...that I come from a huge, loving family, that I write music and love to connect to strangers through my music, that I am a sensitive, but strong young woman with a hell of a lot left to do on this Earth and I’m not going to let the affects of your poor medical judgments keep me from doing so.

I’m not bitter. I just want medicine to be better. I want people who are reading this to demand more from medicine, because we only have one body to work with in this lifetime and we need to demand the best from doctors so that we have it for as long as we possibly can. If the doctors we have aren’t doing their job, then we need to challenge them to do better. You don’t need a medical degree to hear the messages your body sends you--be responsible and respect those messages and share them with people who can and will do something about them.

Tired yet FULL of LIFE

Dear God –

Dear God –

Life down here, over here, here on earth is confusing me…

I have been taught that you, God, are love and we people here on earth are not here to judge each other – you will do that when we get to meet you. Well, here is where the confusion lies…

It seems as though some people down here, over here, here on earth have decided to take it upon themselves to judge others in hateful manors. I don’t understand because a majority of these people are affiliated or affiliate with you, God. They proclaim their belief in you – discounting the fact that the same people that they are judging believe in you, God, too…

My interpretation is that you, God, are love and if we love then you are always with us. So shy do people see it differently? I know that you will judge me, so should I discount that which other down here, over here, here on earth say?

Some of the people down here, over here, here on earth that judge, judge others with hatred. Why do people hate? To me hate – Half Attempt To Enlighten because these people don’t try to love.

<3 ME

We’re messy. We’re messy together.

I know I should probably hate you. Be mad at you and perhaps there was a time that I did…but I don’t think it was for very long or very much because I understood. I understood why you broke up with me. At least I thought I did until you re-entered my life and blew my theory apart. And coming back after so long messed me up. When you left, I was messed up and now that you are back, I’m messed up again. You’d think that I’d hate you for messing me up so much but I don’t. Because I’m sure that I messed you up as well. We’re messy. We’re messy together. Do you think that’s why we couldn’t make it work? I think we were/are too much alike and that made us bond like no one else I’ve ever bonded with but yet it ultimately drove us apart. As much as I’d like to blame the four states that separated us and the fact we didn’t have the technology that we have today that would have made a long distance relationship a lot easier than when we were going at it. The way we were too much alike is we needed someone present. We, well at least I, needed the hand to hold. The hug and my memories were not enough. When I was with you, it was good. So good. I loved you like I’ve never loved anyone and I felt loved. It was great. You set the bar pretty high on that one. I never realized how much it hurt to have that phone conversation and you told me that you were going to go out with that girl. Then the phone conversation six months later that the girl moved in. Then the email that you married the girl. Shock. Because I knew you didn’t love her like you should. You were going along with it because she was there and after a while, it got too hard to leave. Hard to undo all that you had done together when there was no real reason to undo it. I know because it happened to me. I finally had to give up on you. To put you to rest in my heart and chalk you up to my first real love. Sigh and move on keeping the memories hidden to pull out when I needed to remember that love. I lied when our marriage counselor asked if we had anyone in the past we needed to get over before we could get married because you were married, I had to be over you. I said no, but how could I have answered yes and explain that it was someone I hadn’t seen in three years who was married to someone else when we went out five years ago. Hell, I thought I was nuts for not being able to let go. So I did the new best thing. I moved on. In my own way.

For three years I was fine. We emailed and kept in touch and I was okay with that. Hearing about your kids and telling you about mine. Then I hear one country song on the radio and it truly begins. Turns out the country songs means as much to you as it does to me and then you share your regret at not marrying me. You were wrong and made a mistake because you don’t have what you had with me. The revelation turned my world around. And I know how you feel because I don’t have what I had with you. The game of ‘what ifs’ has started. And it’s hard to stop.

It’s been a few years now since that country song was played. You are back in my life and I’m torn. I’m glad to have you back in my life in some capacity, but I need to keep you out of my head. Because It’s hard to separate the love I remember to your limit as a friend now. I’ve tried to stop and I last a month here and there, a couple weeks some other times and only a day on most occasions. And you never…you never get mad at me when I pull away because you understand my need to. But I always come back because I need you in my life. I wrote it once 10 years ago that I need you in my life and it’s still true today. At whatever role I’ll take you and you’ll take me. And we’ll wait. We’ll wait until we can be together without hurting anyone. And if I miss you in this life, I know you’ll find me in the next. And if you screw it up again in the next life. I’m really going to kick your ass.

Give up your need to take care of us.

Dear you,

I wish I could make you take a chance at a new life and just give up your dream that has not been working out. I want to scream at you sometimes and tell you that you need to take care of us, but you just don't listen too well. Why don't you see that it is hurting us to keep this thing going. We aren't going to make it. We will lose everything. I am writing this because I love you and I love us. You will have another chance in the future. For now we need to be responsible. We need to see that this is just not the right time. We are just going through the motions to keep it alive but that is not going to be able to continue much longer. Don't you want to keep the house and our cars. Don't you want to see me not so stressed out every freaking day of my life. Don't you want to get ride of your partner in which we both hate. Do you realize we would never have to talk to him again if you would just sell.

I want to sleep again. It is five in the morning and this is what I am doing. Writing a letter to you that you will never be able to read. I will never send this to you because I love you too much and I will continue to support this dream of yours. I will continue to be stressed out on a daily basis trying to figure out which bill to pay this month. I will continue to worry if the guy walking up to the front door is here to turn off the gas or electric. I will continue to not answer my phone fearing it is another bill collector. I will continue to cry a lot during the day.

Please start thinking about us. Please start realizing this is not going to work. I will still love you no matter what does happen. I just want to be able to love you in this house we bought together.

I love you.



You touched me.

You touched me.

When you first became ill, I spent every moment I could, holding your hand. You knew I was there, I don’t care what they said. Come or no coma, I held your hand and you knew I was there. I touched you. I made sure that I spent every waking moment touching you.

I stopped going to class. I spent my studying time touching you. Skin to skin. Hearing your breaths. Going home to bed and calling the nurses on the phone to let me hear your breathing when I wasn’t physically touching you.

Then. The night before you went to heaven, I went away. I escaped to “retreat for some time for myself.” Seriously? I went over an hour away. And before the sun came up, I got the call. I would never touch you again. I drove, blind, for over an hour in the fog – screaming – to come to you. Knowing you wouldn’t be there.

I screamed. I stopped the car at rest stops to scream. I landed in the driveway still screaming.

You left without me. I wasn’t touching you. I was supposed to be touching you.

My best friend. You were my best friend. You were reality. You were kindred. You were the yellow rose. You were my blood.

The first time you touched me after that was when I was trying to figure out your damn mixer. Don’t get me wrong, I cherish everything I inherited after you went to heaven. But that mixer made me crazy. Till you grabbed me by the horns and told me to flip the lever. You touched me. That was less than six months after you left. I couldn’t breathe.

It’s been ten years. Ten. I feel you less and less. I believe that’s my fault. I don’t breathe. I don’t breathe long enough to feel you. I don’t close my eyes enough to brin you to me.

But, again, you touched me.

It was the exact day. Ten years after you went to heaven. Ten years after I wasn’t there to touch you as you passed.

I stood in my kitchen. Solid as a rock. As mommy. Doing all the things to make everyone happy. Then I stooped. I did. I laid my head on the counter and fell apart. I couldn’t feel you. I remembered everything. Our walks after the sun went down. The fires in your fireplace. My bedroom and deep bathtub at your house. The coffee you made for me, cream amount perfect. The sunroom with the plush couch. The cat who couldn’t decide where to sleep because she wanted to be with both of us when I stayed over Your oven as I made you apple cake. Your perfectly ironed clothes because my grandma, your mom, wanted to make life easier for you.

You touched me. My head on the counter. Trying to breathe. I felt your hand. You touched my back.

Stand up, Damnit, stand up. Breathe, sweetheart, breathe.

I love you.

I am always with you.

You touched me.

I’m standing.

The grass is never greener.

Dear Cruel Girl,

Your cruel intentions can’t hide behind that smile. Your “innocent act never had me fooled. It’s people like you that can make the world a miserable place. I try and find the good in everyone. Before you came along I actually believe this good existed, you just had to be patient enough to find it. You have no good. You are no good. I didn’t waste my time looking for it either, because it’s written all over your face. It’s most evident in your eyes. All that mascara and eye shadow only draw more attention to those two cold circles.

You’re just that girl that enjoys getting what she wants and loves going to any length to get it. You see a weak spot and use it to your advantage, it becomes part of your ploy. Now I could go on and on describing your lack of class and attention craving ways, but we all know a girl like you. You’re not original. You’re just a stereotype.

So with that said, your future is as predictable as your trendy clothes. You’ll keep seeking out the “unavailable”, and you’ll most likely win them over.

Congratulations! But, you poor cruel girl what you are too proud to see is no one will ever pick you first. You have no substance worth falling for. You only offer a glimpse of excitement to someone in an already failing relationship. Basically, you’re a convenient way out. A reason to end something that already needed ending.

So, before you place another gold star on your chart, remember those stars actually loved someone. And when they lay with you in silence, it’s that love they can’t forget. Because after being in your arms cruel girl, a lesson is always learned…the grass is never greener.

<3 the one that got away. ☺

I really had no choice.

I really had no choice but to let you into my office, considering that you were there to install my phone and Internet service.

I did not invite you in and I did not want you there.

You simply didn’t notice how painfully awkward I found that conversation and how hard it was for me to continue to be polite.

When I smiled, listened or laughed awkwardly – it was not because I was the slightest bit entertained. In fact I was really mean to you in my head. When you asked where I lived I was shocked and appalled. The tightrope walk it took me to avoid answering you questions should have been the indication you needed not to ask me where I lived for, or if I was single, for the second time. In fact that kind of made me want to call the police.

I resent you for the personal questions but I hate you because I felt so obligated to be generally polite to you. What moral code do I feel bound by that requires women to smile and node no matter how out of line the MARRIED slim of an excuse for a man is?

I hate you for the fact that I was nice the entire time that you were out of line. I really felt it was the kind of situation where it should have been appropriate to slap you, raise my tone of voice and say choice words while escorting you out of my office. If you were allowed to be so inappropriate, why am I not allowed to respond in kind?

I curse you everyday for the fact that you were more focused on a way to work ‘ Telling me that what I need is to date a married man’ into the conversation, TWICE, then you were on installing my service…which…still…does…not…work. At what point did you not notice that I was avoiding all eye contact while answering all 20 questions with one-word answers.

Why did I not slap you, twice, and why am I so sure that the next time a slimy pig pulls a similar trick the majority of graceful women in the workplace will smile, nod, avoid eye contact, and be undeservingly nice while you write your number on the receipt and say “ in case you want to date a married man”.

Screw you.

Now who’s going to finish hooking up my router?

Special Weekend Update

Thank you so much for a week of exciting and meaningful posts. I'm getting a lot of positive feedback and support for this project.

The thing I still need is more letters.

I know there a couple more on the way, but I currently and empty handed. I want to be able to keep posting and sharing with you all. Please, if you have an unwritten letter in your heart that you might benefit from sending...share it with Addressed to Anonymous.

And another thing ... (how's that for infomercial writing?!?!)

If you read a letter that moves you or you feel like responding to any of the posts, there are two ways to do so.

The first is to reply directly into the comment box. All comments are welcome and encouraged.

The second is to send me your own postmarked letter. Just reference the title of the post somewhere on the letter.

It could be on the top as just a reference or in the saluation, "Dear, I miss kills me".

Thank you so much for this great beginning. It means so much to me...and many of our readers!

Have a nice weekend.
Cross your fingers for a nice letter delivery over the weekend so that I have a letter to share come Monday.

I miss kills me to not be able to call you.

I miss you. As your bestest friend in the whole wide world it kills me to not be able to call you and tell you what’s on my mind.

Every Chevy truck still makes me smile. It’s that bittersweet feeling.

I know why. So much has been clear to me since we met. I needed you to help me through my transition. You pulled me past the hardest part. I want to do the same for you.

But I know I can’t.

I’m angry. I’m not mad that you made the choices you did. I’m mad you had someone else tell me. I can’t call you anymore until things blow over? FINE You aren’t man enough to deserve me anyway. I won’t be calling. And when you get around to calling me, I may not answer.

So much has changed in my life that I want you to know but I can’t tell you. I need your advice…you always know the words to move me to action.

Guess I’ll have to use your memory.

Confidence, confidence, confidence.

I met someone. And he’s amazing. That’s my word & I don’t use it much anymore because it’s special. Only someone as special as me deserves it. But he is AMAZING.

You taught me what that word really means. Because I am amazing, that’s what you taught me.

Thank you. I miss you every day. I do love you. You’re my bestest friend in the whole wide world. You know how much you mean to me.

I only wish you could be here to watch me live the life you helped me belief in. Because it is great.

In fact, it’s amazing.

All my love,



Nine years ago I shut you out.

Nine years ago I shut you out.

Refused to let you get to know me.

I wanted validation and the mind numbing effects of a one-night stand. When you asked personal questions and saw me, when you actually cared to see me, I was terrified. If I let you in that night, in that moment then you could hurt me they way everyone else had and that I simply was not able to handle. But honestly that's not worth writing a letter about.

The reason that you scared me so deeply that i froze in every moment is that I could have loved you and I could tell, honestly in those moments that you could have loved me.

In all those years I was running and in those moments together you gave me the option to stop and be loved and that is exactly what I was, and still am, running from.

I'm not sorry that I refused the warmth of your presence and the promise of our future.That was a conscious decision. I knew exactly what I was doing.

I'm sorry that I could not even tell you why. If I had, if I'd given you any ounce of me to understand, to hold, to bond with, then you would have embraced me. The real me, not the facade I'd worked so hard at erecting. I knew you had the answers and the ability to solve my problems. And I really, really wanted to hold onto them. These, "problems" that your simple presence in my life would have resolved were the real me. The real me kicking and screaming to avoid every trap that society had set to trick me into the life they prescribed for me.

And that is exactly what I was, and still am, running from.

Sometimes I can't breathe.

Sometimes I can’t breathe.

It’s not the tightness that comes from being too close to the lilies. Or being exposed to mold. It’s deeper. Deeper to the point that I wonder if it has an end. And it hurts. And the more I try to concentrate on breathing deeply and slowly, the faster my heart beats – I envision a hummingbird – and the tighter my throat gets.

It’s your fault. Well, not your fault that my body’s reaction to anxiety is that of a mild heart attack, but your fault that my reaction to you is anxiety. I don’t think it was always t his way, but I really can’t remember. The person who my memory must have fabricated cannot be the same person causing me to shake like this.

To say I’m afraid of you is inaccurate. I’m not. My body may rumble with the anxious anticipation of your next unexpected move, but I’m not afraid of you. Perhaps it’s the unknown. It’s the need to engage every sense and gage every response to you that causes my body to go on overload.

Stay calm, stay calm. Don’t say the wrong thing. Don’t attack back. Don’t look away. Watch your body language. Don’t instigate. Don’t say what you are thinking.

Yes. That’s it. It’s the transformation my body must go through to endure our every exchange, however mundane.

I’m done. I want to be able to breathe. I deserve to be able to breathe. The trembling is frightening and exhausting. The fear of one day believing that I am what you say rocks me to the core.

My body is reacting.

It’s walking away.

I’m done.

Dirty Boy ~

Dirty Boy-
I’m not what you think. I’m not the typical chick looking for her M.R.S.

I was 19 when I met my ex. We had a very rocky 10 year relationship. Technically it was only 8 years but it took me 2 YEARS to realize we weren’t getting back together.

Another 8 months to realize I was happy with that and to get over the relationship.

It was July 4th this year that I totally considered wanting to start dating.

Do the Math: In my mind I’ve only really been single for 4 months.

I spent my entire 20’s in a relationship. I’m looking to have FUN to start out my 30’s.

I have fun with you. I had more fun in one night than in a long time. Why is that so scary? Just want to keep up the fun. From what you’ve told me you could use a little fun too.

Don’t stress it. Don’t name it.

Relax. I’m not picking out China patterns.

I’m just enjoying you.

~Dirty Girl