My Dearest,
I hope you are well. It’s been a couple of days since you walked out my shitty Perkins door, and I know you said you need some time to think and be alone…but I had to write you this letter. I need to tell you how I feel.
I have a lot of questions: Was it something I said? Was it something I did? I am afraid maybe I pulled a classic me, and I opened up too much. Was I too honest? Too excited? I need some answers because I… I was vulnerable with you. I let you in. I let you see my dreams, my hopes, and my fears.
I wanted you to come to Brown. And you said, “Yeah, but I’m also considering other schools. Like Penn, Hopkins, and Harvard.”
When you went into the Ratty and said, “It’s not Annenberg, but it is pretty cozy,” was that a dig? Or do you really prefer the shitty simple to the luxurious ornate? Were you convinced by Harvard’s delusion that they are actually Hogwarts?
Yes, maybe I can’t offer you money. Maybe I can’t give you luxurious cars or vacation homes or free printing. But in the words of Meredith Grey, pick me (choose me, love me) anyway. I would give you fun times! I can offer you excitement! And an amazing community of social-justice-educating donut-giving naked individuals! I can give you a concert festival on your campus where the likes of Gambino and Lamar have performed! I can offer you delicious waffles and chicken fingers–if we’re on Pembroke and at the right time. (Or promise you a Spicy With if we don’t get chicken fingers.)
Maybe they offer you something similar, too, but I still needed you to know my feelings. I know this letter won’t solve anything. You made your choice. Whatever. At least it’s off my chest now. Feel free to throw away the mixtape and lock of hair I attached.
ooxxooXoXXx
Daniella
P.S. Come to Brown!
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