A Letter to My Sexual Perpetrator

It was never my fault.

Photo by Kal Visuals on Unsplash

Do you remember the last time we saw each other?

I was nineteen. We went to lunch at a pizza place. I hadn’t seen you in a few months.

It was overcast and chilly enough for just a sweater.

After lunch we got on the freeway and you were supposed to take me home.