I write to you here because I don't know where to write this or how or why. Only this:
We were crazy about each other, in a way that I am never crazy about anything. I was regular crazy, and then you came along. I was crazy for the way you were crazy about me. I just wish it was meant to be some other way than the way it was, the way it had to be.
I hope you're well and understand on some strange subconscious level why you'll never get this letter, why I've stopped writing you.
I needed you for a long time before we'd ever met in a way that you need a book you've only just read that quickly becomes indispensable. I needed to read you, to have read you, and I'm glad I did; so I could write my own future with the words you've given me.
I leave the words here, for them to float out and wash up somewhere on the beach we used to sit at and drink beers by and where we became unraveled. My little message in a bottle.