You could have told her your name. So I didn't have to prod her for your details. So I didn't have to ask her what you looked like. She fell inlove with you at once, you know. And the moment I saw the sparkle in her fourteen-year-old eye, I managed to smile. I did. I knew how she felt. I felt it too. When I was her age too. She described your crooked teeth, your earring, and how beautiful you were. Effortlessly, shamelessly beautiful. Your teeth remind me of vampires. And she did almost say she wanted to be bitten by you.
You could have told her it was you. Or, you could have told her you were back from the grave so I would have understood instantaneously.
She has seen you already. I have not. It's been ten years.