You look good. Maybe not I-wanna-take-you-home-good, but good. Last we seen each other, I left you crying on a bench, in a park. I don't even remember where we were that time. You and your fucking city breaks. I remember when I first told my ex about you. Cause' you know I like to keep in touch with my girls. She said, "She seems like a keeper. You on the other hand, if you're still up to what you used to be, go fuck yourself". I guess she was right. I heard you finally got to visit Cambodia. You were super hyped about it. I wanted to fucking rest. Anyway, I am happy for you. I hope you found love in your life. And I'm not talking about the fucking-and-arguing arrangement that we had. I'm talking about real love. The kind that makes your hair curl into a heart every time he says your name. If you didn't, forgive me for telling you you'll never find it. I'm sure you will, eventually. Forgive me, but never forget me. We did had a ball, you and me. Be good, kid. And kiss your mother from me.