Dear (her name here),
I finally get it. Your caveat was fair and ahead of time. You’re dark and damaged. You hurt people. That’s what you do. Good for you. Bad for me.
Yet you still have the benefit of my doubt. There are still reaches of my belief that refuse to yield. You are more than you want to give away. I’m well aware that you can go the rest of your life completely impenetrable. Don’t do that, but please do snicker or even chuckle at the double entendres.
Your self-proclaimed negligence and detachment finally got the best of me. Perhaps it was purely ego. I really did think I was getting through to you, or at least getting to you. No? Didn’t even make a dent? That paired with the sizable disappointment of not ever having the sex, I am every bit as ineffectual as you wanted me to be. Glad I could be of (no) service, ma’am.
You are once again a master of everything around you. You are so back, baby. The times my whereabouts worried you now belong to me. The need to check up and check in? Long gone. Fun and fancy free are going to be big for you in 2010. Show me how you let go so easily and I’ll come out and play all summer.
Pathetically Yours,
Christopher
