Nothing is the same anymore. Days drag and nights are even slower and the memories of us hurt as much as they heal. All I think about is being with you again. I imagine going to the party that first night and doing everything different. I’d tell you the truth. I’d do what I needed to do back home, come back to New York and prove to you that I never stopped loving you.

I replay how I handled things over and over in my head and I want to go back and shake myself. I mean aggressively shake myself. I hurt two women who did nothing wrong and who deserved so much more than what I gave them. For that, I will always be ashamed and deeply sorry.

You were right in what you said to me at the wedding. I was using how much I wanted and loved you as an excuse to justify my actions, but I don’t have anyone or anything to blame but myself. I was scared and selfish. I betrayed your trust by not telling you the truth and I made what we had look like a lie when it’s the only real thing I’ve ever known. I stole a week and lost forever.

But the thing is, I still can’t give up. I can’t stop hoping that we’ll find our way to each other one more time. You have lived in the back of my mind for ten years. You never left. You’ve always been there with your books and your humor, and even when half of me would try to move on, the other half would hold on to you even tighter. You’re the best part of who I am and who I want to be, and when you feel something like that, it can’t be wrong.

What happens next is entirely up to you and this is where the journal comes in. Since a novel is where our story started in college, I couldn’t help but see it as a fitting symbol of our relationship. But as you can tell by the blank pages, our book isn’t finished. I’d like for you to write out our story and when you’re done, no matter the ending, please send it back to me. I put my address in the inner flap. If you don’t want to or if you throw this book away, I’ll understand. But if I ever do get to see this journal again, I hope, more than anything, that I end up reading a romance.

Loving and missing you,

—Ryan