I taped my headshot to the back of your milk carton and wrote “Call me” underneath it in permanent marker. I know you’ll see it in the morning, when you pour your bowl of cereal for breakfast. I know that piece of paper says I can’t be within one hundred feet from you, but I figured if you didn’t want me in your apartment, you would’ve hidden your spare key in a different location.
Besides, it was three in the morning, and you still weren’t home — I waited for you to return for an hour. When I realized you were probably out celebrating your “freedom” from me, I left my message on your milk carton and went home. I hope you see the picture of my cheesy smile — you always said it was a horrible headshot and the reason why I didn’t get any callbacks — and remember our fun times together. And you’ll call me.
I need to talk to you, to apologize. We can get back together, make it work between us. We can? Can we?