I Hope This Finds You Well

by Natalie Sue

I absently scroll Gregory’s email, judging his terrible grammar, offensive jokes, and boomer overuse of ellipses. Why do men like him always get so far? It should be impossible if the world were serious.

He’s in that category of people who should be ashamed of themselves, yet he’s never had to confront guilt because the world always tells him that he’s the fucking papa bear.

It’s like walking into a room and worrying everyone was just talking about you; the real power is knowing that they were.

“You can’t see it now, but I hope soon you do. You’re understandable—I understand . . .”

“Your email that was both horrible and perfect. I don’t know if you noticed, but I’ve wanted to be in on the joke with you since the start.”

It feels so good to be known by someone, to be seen, to be touched. And I want more of it.

I’m so embarrassed my vagina hurts. I