I know this is your work e-mail, and I probably shouldn't be using it. Just once, promise.
I love you. I didn't know I could love; not in that way. Hell, I'm no poet and I'm sure as hell no relationship expert. But I feel like I don't want this thing we have to end, and something's been bugging me. I want to tell you everything about me. All the bad stuff, and there's plenty of bad. Maybe this is a dumb idea, but I told myself the past doesn't matter, but I can't shake it. I want to let you know.
I'll speak to you at home. If you want to save me explanation, you can find my latest arrest record. There are still blanks I got to fill in, though.