old school hard

She writes another letter anyway. Against her better judgement.

She hopes it's simple. The letter. She thinks of the word "minimalist" and is surprised by the wave of resentment that floods over her. She hates him. No, she usually hates him. That would be the usual response for these kind of circumstances, right? The usual, the knee jerk reflex. She thinks of how many times they have done this, this dance, this back and forth exchange. She realizes she has lost count and there is something shameful in that. It's almost pathetic. If she hadn't believed for so long that it was something beautiful and rare and twisted and romantic maybe she wouldn't feel so stupid.