I am so, so in love with you, but I've been having a non-physical affair with your high school senior English teacher. The one who gave you your first B. Do you remember how devastated you were? Now we've been making plans to have sex this weekend, and I'm only nineteen, and I'm terrified, because you're the only man I've ever been with, and you're the love of my life. I texted him this morning and told him I was calling it off because I love the smell of your shampoo and I love the feel of your warm broad shoulders when you're the big spoon. But I still wonder what could have happened, and I think about how I'll never have that opportunity again—I've wanted to sleep with that man for so long—and I think about how much I love you, and I want you to know I'll never cheat, but I might always want to. Oh, sweetie. I love you so much. Being nineteen is hard. I wish I could talk to you about this; you're my best friend, and this is the only thing I've ever kept from you.