Yes. Totally... tenderly... tragically.

Dear John,

We watch movies from beginning to end now. We agreed that the bed needs one more pillow, so that we both can arrange them to our liking. I no longer have a garage because paying rent for a parking space I never used was no longer relevant. You still dance for me, and I still sing you silly songs. You still bring my enchiladas for lunch, although I probably don't make them as often as you'd like. But now I don't need to write letters addressed to someone else to tell you that I love you, not since that night you wrapped your arms around me, as an '80's cover band played a song by Poison behind us, and screamed, "I don't know if I should say this yet, but I'm falling madly in love you." (Which, oddly enough, happened the night I wrote that letter about watching your pupils engorge themselves with beautiful blackness.) Now, I say "I love you" everyday. And now, you come with me to take out the recycling.

Love, me

Yes, you should ask.

Dear Joany,

I'm bored of the games and the weird confusions. I'm tired of not knowing whether to make the move. I'm confused as to how you would take it. Last week in my room I wanted to strip you slowly and peel your dress away inch by beautiful inch. You know who I am and how I would love you. You know my name and my number that eagerly waits.

Just lately you see me and I'm not being my self.
I'm quiet and boring as I don't know how to act. I know it's difficult with our myriad relationships but I want you so badly. I don't care the consequence. Let me know, should I make a move? Should I dare to ask? I want you in my bed.

Blind

Dear John(s),

I've really learned my lesson this time.

I wanted to trust you. I wanted to believe that you wouldn't ever compromise my happiness for your own selfish desires. I gave you the unwavering benefit of the doubt despite that ever morsel of my intuition was pointing in the other direction. I realize now that I've been really blind. I don't know how I ever thought that you were over it and that somehow this would never be an issue. Well, I was wrong. I was really wrong. And you want to know what's worse? I think you were even more delusional than I was. You were manipulative without even knowing it. To think about all the things you said, and more importantly did not say, when he talked to you about this. You couldn't just have asked to not be part of it like you did with me. Intentional or not, it's irrelevant.

And the sad truth is that now you've lost my trust, and what the hell is friendship without trust? It's nothing, it's a broken shadow, it's fake smiles, it's sleeping with one eye open. I can't do that. I won't.

You both are going to realize that you each of you made some pretty selfish decisions, and it'll be too late. You can have each other.

I'm gone, but I will always always land on my feet.

This is the last time I am blind.

Come back to bed

Dear Joan,

Come back to my bed.

Hold me close, don't turn your back just hold me.
Spank me, tease me, bite me and stroke me.
Take me apart, use your tongue, use my tongue.
Cup me, cuddle me, confuse me and control me.

Just come back to my bed and this time don't turn your back.

So true

An easy life I would lead without you, Johns.

Poland meets Croydon

Dear John,

Weeks and I know you entirely. You are the poster child for marijuana. You have weird hair and a completely disheveled wardrobe. I don’t understand most words you say. You work only to play. You have been at least an hour late for every one of our dates. But somehow, John, you possess so much more than any other John. You are proficient in showing your adoration. You shower me with seemingly ordinary gifts like a bag of fruit or a page ripped from an old book. You take me to your favorite grassy oasis rather than a pretentious restaurant. You live as though sunshine is consistently beaming upon you, and I yearn for your energy. If only I could apprehend my ambivalence, I would be yours wholly; but I’m distracted by the John who cannot extend his love beyond the ocean and the John who’s afraid to fight. I’m distracted by the John I think may be dead and the John I wish would wake up.

To my cockroach ex-wife

best of craigslist > chicago > To my cockroach ex-wife

Date: 2009-08-11, 5:02AM CDT

Dear Whore of Lucifer:

I have recently enrolled in a 12-step program for people whose lives were decimated and finances ruined by lawyer bills when their spouses filed for divorce after finding someone else to fuck and run off with. I am currently up to Step 8: Willingness to Make Amends. As such, I apologize for the following recent transgressions:

Told the drunk at the bar who wanted a Red-Headed Slut that he's more than welcome to you if that general contractor douchebag is done with you.

Annoyed the staff at several hospitals by calling to see if they had any fresh organ donors on hand with a heart suitable to replace your cold, dead one.

Demanded a refund from Southwest Airlines because I tried to get you on one of their planes but they refused to let my bag fly free as advertised in their TV commercials.

Scrawled your cell number in the stall of the john of the bar at the American Legion post down the street with an offer of free prostate exams for all veterans 65 and older.

Told my neighborhood U.S. Marine Corps recruiter that I knew the exact location of the dank, hopeless cave Osama Bin Laden was hiding in and provided the GPS coordinates to your pants.

Lit several offering candles at your church with prayers that karma would hurry its ass up and come around to you while I was still alive to see it.

For these things, my dear handmaiden of Satan, I make my amends. I'd still love to see your head squeezed in a vice until your eyeballs squirt out of their sockets, but I have to go along with the program.

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