Be still my stupid heart.

Do you remember that college film, in which a guy cheats on his girlfriend on camera, accidentally sends it to her and then embarks on a road trip to retrieve the tape before she sees it? You know, he and his friends hit the road...in a trip across the States? And lots of funny things happen on the road and during their trip? What’s it called? ‘Road’ something? Something ‘Trip’? I don’t know.

Anyway, I find myself in a similar circumstance – more tenuous, I suppose, than similar. But having returned from my own road trip I now find myself chasing an item of mail, in an attempt to exonerate myself of a stupid incident. There was, I suppose, driving involved, and sex. No videotape however (most unusual), but a letter – and a stupid one at that.

You see, towards the end of my trip, I found myself in the embrace of an ex-girlfriend – one I didn’t think I’d ever see again. In the moment and, I guess, out of my mind, I found myself in a compromising situation and, convinced that this was the result of her undying and unrelenting love for me, wrote her a letter whilst on the plane home.

With a combination of jetlag, fatigue, and the after-effects of that blasted in-flight romantic comedy, I dropped it in the letterbox and essentially sent her a letter of sympathy. I could not, I wrote, find it in my heart to love her again.

Imagine my surprise then when I returned home to an e-mail from said lost-love. It was nice to see me, it said. And nice too, it went on, to relive the passion. “See you later,” it finished. “Cheers.” What I thought was the star-crossing of two paths, nevertheless a rocky road, was nothing more than a booty call.

I was, of course, happy to oblige. But there was a letter, on its way, with a far less casual tone. It must be stopped, I thought. I might not have saved ass, but I was hoping, at least, to save face.

I implored her not to read it, but couldn’t imagine how she would not. Especially with all the imploring. I wondered how long it would take to arrive; I worried that her roommate/ex-boyfriend/whatever might read it; I wished I hadn’t sent it.

Today, I got a letter. In fact, I got two. The first read:

“Dear San, I didn’t open this letter. Alas, I don’t know how to steam it open, but I also trust that if you really wanted to say something to me, you would just say it, unapologetically. So, here is your letter back, unravaged by my curiousity. I hope you’re well… Always, X”

The second was mine, enclosed.