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Natalie continued...

Dear Natalie,

Ooohhhh, sweetie. I am so, so sorry. But you know what? You are so, so lucky. I truly know that that's like saying, "Children are starving, enjoy your beets!" But believe me, you are. Not only do you have mom on your side, but you also had a love with all the romance of the best epistolary novel. Which means, lucky you: yes, yes, yes, he loved you; you've got proof. And the earthliest possible souvenir of your love supernova out there in cyberspace.

What have you learned, besides the word "epistolary?" Well, we're both lucky you're asking that question. You, because it means you're a smart cookie and have moved farther "on" than you think; me, because I can tell you "what you've learned" without sounding like your square aunt. What you've learned, Natalie, is how this feels. How love feels. You know full well that what some call "virtual" was "actual." Who could ask for more? Oh, but you got more: you're also starting to learn -- and believe me, grownups are foggy on this -- that "great" and "real" don't necessarily mean permanent. That just because feelings, like his, are true and wonderful and strong, doesn't mean they always last. Sometimes the power of like distance and nerves and adolescent freakiness is even stronger.

Are you obsessed with him? I don't think so, though I know it sounds really fun. Mainly, what you are is still "going through a breakup" (and you're also learning how that feels, which, sucky as it is, is also important.) But since it's been so long since the "friends" talk, I think all your souvenirs (from the French word for "memory" or "remember") are doing their job a little too well. So I believe that it would help you, just for a little while, to take a few steps back, from him, from the friendship, from all your treasured goodies. Like, take a break from talking to him (a "friend" will understand). And put that $600 in a savings account and collect the other kind of interest until you decide what, if anything, to do with it. In fact, how about this: take all your souvenirs and spend one more Sunday making them into a big, thick scrapbook, one with special pockets for disks and everything. Leaf through it one more time, cry a lot, and then put it away. Maybe have mom hide it; don't look at it for a while. (Someday, after a loooong while, when you take it out for old times' sake, you'll think, "Oh, that was back when we were using that primitive Instant Messaging technology! How quaint!")

Can you get him back? I hate to say this, but I'm not sure he's ready to deal and ready to love the way you are, or that he will be before you've managed to move on to someone closer by. But remember, sweetie, the scrapbook. Lucky, lucky, lucky. Can you get him back? Natalie, you will always have him.

Love,
Breakup Girl

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