I must say, this letter was long overdue given you have repeatedly ignored replying my emails and those tiny notes you always find stuffed under the windscreen of your car; and NO, I am not stalking you. I wish I were.
I know you have received and read every single last one of my notes, I have witnessed you neatly keep them in your pockets. I wonder whether you keep them in the drawer under that mighty oak bed you sleep so handsomely in. That oak bed, the one we once broke and had to find other places to enjoy the pre-marital sex we were so dearly enjoying; the one whose bedposts are stained with our fingerprints and straight DNA from all the unusual practices it perceived.
I apologise for airing out this letter this way, I know you shall receive it. To say you broke my heart would be an understatement Chris. You ruined me. Left me with no love, to gain or to give. When you kissed her right in front of my eyes, shoving your tongue right further down her throat like a carnivore sucking blood out of a wounded gazelle, you ate every piece of wheat and barley that came off her drunken tongue. Why? Right in front of my eyes. I know things were not going well at home, we barely saw each other naked; all those mornings I ever woke up with your face buried in between my legs were no more. That morning shower that always went into extra time was no more. The lace underwear you always made me wear and then ate right off ceased to be in the chest drawer right next to those “Friday night” purple heels you bought me last Valentine ’s Day.
God! Valentine’s Day! Remember the last one, we had argued about me forgetting to buy you a gift (You know how much I suck at giving gifts) and you settled to punishing me for it.
“Take off all your clothes right away and leave the undies,” you had said. “We are going to eat supper now and you shall please me later. Put these on too…” You handed me a pair of beautiful purple heels.
You unhooked my bra, pulled that bar stool right next to you and sat me on it as we ate the pizza we had picked up from that Italian restaurant. You said the pizza taste had you wanting to eat it off my mouth as you kissed and touched me. Your hands, those golden hands that held the back of my head and turned my skin into mash upon your touch as they lingered down my spine. You took me there at the kitchen counter, then the kitchen floor, to the play station room… how we got to that mighty oak bed shall always remain a mystery. How we broke it though, we swore never to discuss. We had to sleep in the TV room, right after I’d whooped your ass at Need For Speed (the only time I ever did)
I have tried to suffocate the memories surrounding that day ever since this “month of love” began. I got that puppy we had always talked about, but gave it to my nephew; he loved it more than I did.
I write this letter to apologize for all the angry notes I have written to you the past month and that time you found your car masked by raw eggs. This is the last time I write anything to you. I hope you writhe in the memories of last Valentine’s Day this Saturday, though I know you may not even remember. I know I will and may probably drown in a pool of whiskey to erase everything (some of it), I pray it works. Also, if (and when) you receive this letter, just allow me one more chance to egg your car. I hate seeing it every morning as I go to work!
Yours dearly trodden,