P.s. I Hate You

Dear Isaiah, Eight months ago, you were just a soldier about to be deployed and I was just a waitress, sneaking you a free pancake and hoping you wouldn’t notice that my gaze was lingering a little too long. But you did notice. We spent one life-changing week together before you left, and we said goodbye on day eight, exchanging addresses at the last minute. I saved every letter you wrote me, your words quickly becoming my religion. But you went radio silent on me months ago, and then you had the audacity to walk into my diner yesterday and act like you’d never seen me in your life. To think ... I almost loved you and your beautifully complicated soul. Almost. Whatever your reason is—I hope it’s a good one. Maritza the Waitress PS – I hate you, and this time ... I mean it.