Chapter 2: That is the reason I'm thinking of you now. To let you know how excruciating genuine romance can be. To let you know it's worth the effort. Not a glaringly obvious explanation.

How's that for a young lady who tells the truth?

Yet, in case it isn't obvious — and perhaps it's the blackout talking — I'll be back in the US one month from now. Also, I surmise to ask for my pardoning and request that I reevaluate our relationship, I may listen to you. Say, over supper at Olive Nursery.

Meanwhile, Santiago and I have a few burros to ride and some churros to eat.

Wish you were here.

Hello starting from the starbucks the road from our home. Your home. Brittanee's and your home. I need to concede that was a shock a little while ago, pulling up to the control and seeing you two through the image window, settled together on far edges of the loveseat with your legs tangled together like the endlessness image.

You say you need somebody who tells the truth? Indeed, here goes.

They won't ever exist. Jacques and Lorenzo and Santiago and Olaf, whom you never got to re-think since I didn't come to Russia. I think you know why I got it done.

However, perhaps you saw the photos I posted on Instagram, the ones of me skydiving and parasailing and saving those vagrants from that consuming structure, and you pondered. Perhaps you gazed at them the manner in which I gazed at the photos of you and Brittanee in the show house, or your Tweets about at last finding "the one," or the video of you getting down on one knee in our #1 café.

However, i question your minutes were photoshopped.

Irregardless, this message ought to find you soon. I've recently paid some skin break out crusted first year recruit a twofold mixed venti white mocha with four shots and almond milk and fifteen Splenda parcels in return for conveying this postcard to you.

Perhaps we can in any case have that discussion. I spoke the truth about that.

All in all, I realize this spot isn't precisely Olive Nursery, yet hello, it isn't Stew's by the same token.

Up to that point, I'll be here finding a seat at the corner table for some time, perhaps ten minutes or an hour or until this spot closes. I wouldn't fret the pausing. I have only time now. Time to contemplate you, and her, and the recollections of a daily existence I assumed I knew, a house I might in all likelihood at no point ever occupy in the future.

In any case, I want to be there.