I wrote you a fan letter when I was in college, when I could not bear the thought of my delight going unnoticed. When I thought that what I thought really mattered. This was a time before things could trend so easily, before being online became its own life and before anyone could tell me it was a bad idea to write to you. You will find no celebrity photos on my walls today. Objects of desire slowly shift from celebrity to places missed and friend’s correspondences. But somewhere, I still have your signature. While the 14th bottle goes down smooth, the past creeps in. While getting ‘just a little pissed,’ a drawer is opened. While citizenship is ignored, renounced, a photo emerges. ‘What does it say?’ my past self asks her French-taking friends. ‘It says Love!’ My hair is emo-black and knees constantly bruised, I’m a semblance of normalcy while you, now, are an entirely different entity. Tonight I fear to fall asleep and wake to a world where bagpipes sound different, but I also fear another type of headline. I’m made fun of for caring, but without the little things I care about, I’m nothing- and I don’t think anyone’s life is a little thing. Some things fade away or fall or finish. But certainly not everything.