Pen pals

You knew me as Debbie, or "the girl across the street."

We were both 10 and we spent 2 weeks catching butterflies and mounting them to black velvet in the cool dark of your grandparents' house on Quivera in Great Bend, Kansas. You were my friend at a time when I had no friends. I don't remember your name. I don't remember a thing we talked about. But your hair was blond and your skin was tan and you were the most beautiful boy I had ever seen. You were an angel. I wanted to scream "I love you" every time our eyes met.

When you left, I thought we'd be pen pals.
This is the first time I've ever written you.
Write back if you get this.