Dear John letter
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Saturday, March 28, 2015
Dear pointless entity,
By the time you read this, I'll be serving number 977. If you get here quickly enough, you might be able to get in to see me before I wash the stink of manfilth from my body and go home for the night. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but I finally got around to reading your "poems" this morning, and I figure that this is better than a bullet in the head.
I know this might seem like a bit of a shock to you, seeing as we made all those plans to live together in happily unwedded bliss, or a reasonable facsimile, but I just don't see things working out that way.
I'm sorry about this — I think. I just need to kick you while you're down, before the snooker comes on the telly.
I want to tell you that I think you're ...good at Scrabble, if slightly obsessed with it, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You're a balloon animal fan, and I'm enigmatic. You like having sex in dumpsters, putting things on springs, and arguing with the voices only you can hear over dinner plans, and I'm just not sure I can ever share your joy in those things. How can two people so different ever make it for the long haul? I think we should date again, but only if we're re-incarnated into each other's bodies and I get to be "you" next time. Oh yes. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I see a couple screaming at each other in public.
I'd really like us to become "people that pretend they never dated", if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, at least while we were in separate cells at the police station.
Take care of yourself and never forget your psychiatrist thinks you're a jerk too.