Chrissy, pour toi.

Chrissy, I never knew you read this. This is just one of the things I guess we'll never say. I'm glad I told you I was angry. I am. I'm glad you know I've forgiven you because I do. Not because I want to, because I want the part of me you took. I want her back. You can't walk away with that.

You know, you never got me. You saw what I wanted you to see. And I'm hurt and angry and miserable and upset but I'm okay.

You're just as scared as I am, aren't you?





After we spoke I got up and looked in the mirror, and I looked the same.



And I want you to know I laughed. I AM too dramatic, sometimes.




So here's to us, Chrissy. To who we were, to who we are, to who we will become. This is your choice. I've never felt more real than I do lately, the weeks setting in a greater sense of self than I ever knew possible; being stripped of school and tossed into the adult world. And you'll miss out on all that; I forgot I wasn't alone in this. You'll never see the woman I've become, the money I'll make in my new career in fashion, the home I'll lease in the city. You'll never see the pictures from my MBA graduation, listen to my stories of the people I meet in class. You'll never know the grace I'll attain, never ride in my passenger seat, never see me dance in the rain. Never hear my theory on 19th century British literature, never see me cry, never have another whiskey and coke with me. You'll never touch my thighs, recently thinned, you'll never smell my new scents. You won't see my new highlights or new tortoise shelled heels. You won't be around to toast me at my dinner parties, you won't hear my laughter. You'll never hear about my new days in corporate society, you won't be able to watch me climb.






You're never going to know the woman you helped create from the silly little girl in designer clothing.




Merci beacoup, mon petit ami, pour tout le monde.

Pour tout le monde.





"Life goes on. That's how it should be." - Sally Field