Wish You Were Here

Genre: Contemporary, funny, sad

Chapter 1: Bonjour from the city of adoration! I don't have a lot of room on this postcard, so I'll keep things brief. At any rate, i'm making a beeline for the all-you-can-eat crêpe buffet soon. My new darling, Jacques, wouldn't fret a lady with a couple of additional bends. More pad for the pushin', you know?

Goodness, you ought to see him. Jacques is an incredible looker, an all out zaddy. Like George Clooney without the ongoing drug habit. I'm talking high cheekbones and a solid facial structure. An inflection that can transform cheddar into gouda. Washboard abs you could do more than two heaps of clothing on. I'm almost certain the Paris Match magazine even called his body the eighth normal marvel of the world.

Furthermore, he's so imaginative with whipped cream!

At any rate, I simply needed to say that I trust you're content with your new sweetheart. Goodness indeed, I've seen the Instagram posts, the recordings of you two doing the Electric Slide on rollerblades, the photos of you giving plasma together. I saw the adjustment of your relationship status on Facebook. I wasn't following you or anything; somebody sent me the connections recently. I think it was when Jacques was taking me to the Eiffel Pinnacle. He's insightful like that.

All things considered, simply help me out, okay? Try not to call me. I won't be returning to you. I'm too in the middle of having a great time.

Wish you were here.

***

Ciao from the place that is known for pasta and pizza! Excuse any incorrect spellings or chicken scratch in this letter. I'm as of now composing this from a gondola, on the grounds that Lorenzo totally demanded. I swear he reveres the water nearly however much he loves me.

Goodness, that is my new sweetheart, coincidentally. Just take my for it, he's exceptionally attractive, with abs and cheekbones as well. The all out 10th regular miracle. Tall and dull and puzzling, similar to the sort of fellow you'd find on the front of a privateer romance book. Or on the other hand like George Clooney with the chronic drug usage.

Relax, back in Paris I let Jacques down simple. Gave him the bygone "The fault here is entirely mine" line. Recall that one? I'm certain you do.

Irregardless, Jacques is so last month, and when in Rome, correct?

We visited the huge workmanship historical center here yesterday, the Accademia Display, Lorenzo and I. Traveled past marble figures and oil compositions and an unusual urinal structure that I'm almost certain is just there as a crisis latrine and isn't really workmanship by any means. It was actually very exquisite.

At the point when we came to the last room, the one with the Sculpture of David remaining in the middle like a bare superhuman, it made me think about you. I'll give you one think about why.

In any case, that is the reason I chose to think of you now. Not on the grounds that I watched that TikTok of you and your new sweetheart whipping and nae naeing in wonderful beat, and positively not in light of your Snapchat anecdote about resuming the cockles of your heart after so much time. All things considered, I've continued on thus would it be a good idea for you.

Yet, I guess you can call me in the event that you truly need to. Simply realize I have my hands full with my first love Lorenzo, so the possibilities of my answering are probably just about as pallid as your new sweetheart. Furthermore, what sort of name is Brittanee in any case? Makes no difference either way.

Wish you were here.

¡Hola from the radiant province of Jalisco, Mexico! Hello, you realize how I've for a long time truly needed to go horseback riding? Indeed, I'm most of the way to enjoying a truly incredible lifestyle, child, since I'm composing this from the rear of a jackass. Santiago says it's very much like being on a pony, just a jackass is more modest and somewhat more slobbery and it has an additional one letter in its name. He's extremely insightful, my new sweetheart, my Santiago.

Trust me, the less we say about Lorenzo, the better. Some exhortation: Never trust a man who takes you to a craftsmanship exhibition hall to see a urinal and a naked male sculpture.

Santiago isn't that sort of fellow. Furthermore, get this: He can cook. Furthermore, not simply spaghetti and moment rice and Lunchables. Genuine food. He adores making every one of our feasts, and he won't ever grumble.

The most amusing thing happened a day or two ago, truth be told. As I was looking at your Twitter, perusing all the old "I simply need a young lady who tells the truth" remarks you posted and retweeted, Santiago's boiling condo loaded up with the fragrance of cinnamon. Furthermore, when he danced into the front room and offered me the plate of churros despite his good faith, I took one gander at them, all floppy and wilted, and I thought about the Sculpture of David, and afterward I considered you. Also, I dismissed until I fell the love seat and hit my head against the foot stool and needed to get eight join.