We know you told us not to call, but you didn't say we couldn't write you a letter. We hope you take the time to read it, because we think it would really help if you and us had closure.
Remember when we first met? We were so drawn in by the hunky Sean Burroughses of the world. We just knew you as being the other guy down on the farm with the weird name. Now we know you as our X.
All season long, we kept you close to our bosom, but we knew you were like a bird of paradise in a cage. Your song could be sung, but you really wanted to fly. We wished this for you. We wished for you to be free.
And now we know that we should be careful what we wish for.
Remember that one time, when you were sent to left field as a defensive substitution for that left fielder who's still on the team who has crabs? Remember how you heard somebody sweetly call your name? Yoo-who! Yoo-whoooo?
That was us. We waved our hankerchief, but we don't think you noticed.
Or that other time, we saw you at UTC out in front of the LoveSac store. Remember how we batted our eyelashes at you and wished you luck and then the next night you hit a home run?
Maybe you don't remember, but we do.
And that time when it was player picture day, and we had our friend Shania hug you real tight while we snuck up behind you and snipped a lock of your hair?
That was totally Shania's idea. But we still have the lock of your hair.
Anyways, we hope you fly away someplace where your feathers will be appreciated. We were just holding you back. You're better off now. We better not write any more, because this is getting weird. Even for us. If you hear us calling in to Mighty 1090 and it sounds like we're crying, please change the station. We don't want you to see us that way. We want you to remember us with a smile on our face. Remember how we love to smile.
Always and forever,
P.S. Let's still be friends.