Dear Heart Broken,

What do you picture when you imagine traveling through Ireland? Red heads, tons of them? Too many of them. Is that Ed Sheeran? I love Shape of You. The shape of YOU. I miss you. How my fingers would trace your every outline. Busy streets with faces you don’t recognize? Or just the usual O’Connell St. on a Sunday? The two of us together again, chasing after the sheep and floating in pints of Guinness every night. You know what happened to me? I’m covered in sweat, dirt, and um, my dinner from the evening before. I was at the pub, brown and smelly. The man across the room looked at me like I had done something wrong. I haven’t. I ate olives out of a wooden bowl. I hate olives, but they make me feel like I’m someone else. The salt tasted like my tears. It made me feel something. It still does. A sense of childlike wonder flowed through my body like an electrical current when I first saw you. You had an entrancing womanly musk. Your prickly leg hair brushed against my pant leg. Something came over me that I could not resist. After we went home, I showed you around my flat. I put on the kettle and spoon fed you Kerrygold butter. You loved it. I swear I’m not creepy. I’m just Irish. Did I remind you of Paul Mescal? I haven’t seen his work, but he’s all over my algo. You’ve been down there for awhile: that’s short for algorithm. Or did you think of me as the leprechaun from the breakfast box: all charm, very lucky. Are you hungry? You always had quite the appetite, my love. The pain of heartbreak has subsided and my head feels light as I giggle. And now they’re grabbing me so hard I can barely move, they must really like me. The flashing lights and busted window remind me of your smile. I guess I get a phone call. I wish I could call you. But you wouldn’t answer. You can’t answer. At least I hope you can’t. Keep quiet down there, lest the neighbors hear you. Hope you’ve enjoyed your holiday as much as I have. I will see you soon. Time to start plotting my escape.