Letter One: Would it kill you to know that it was more a case of bad timing. Think that old movie Summertime. Think any cliché. Because it my vulnerable moments I had fancied you even though you are not my type. (Whatever that means.) Perhaps even when I fancied you I knew that it was not right. Perhaps you knew it too even in your dream-scape moments that ought not to have been. At least you taught me the lesson about full disclosure. And aren't we still paying for it in a way. Me with my half guilt. The funny thing is now you are the one with all the naiveté, when it was mine that caused all this difficulty in the first place.
Letter Two: That was a funny nothing that we had going on. Just perfect for that point of uncertainty in my life. You being so knowledgeable. And I was intoxicated by your attention, but who wouldn't be? I still think of you occasionally and fondly but not with a wondering of what could have been because that wasn't what it was about at all. You never really intended to leave her. I never really intended to ask her. (Both those sentences would still stand firm without the 'really.') I don't know what you got from me. I can acknowledge what I got from you and am grateful for the flirtation, the nothing that I did not endow with greater meaning. Because even thought we didn't know the line, in reality, we did.