https://www.angelfire.com/zine2/letters/index.html
melindaedison@hotmail.com
Final Rinse
To Someone,
I tripped. No, I fell into a love abyss, St Louis #1.
I have learned one important thing: Never play with men. Never play at love. Something that is nothing may grow to become something huge. And you will end up feeling like stepping on a banana peel.
I don’t blame him. I think I made up 90% of what I believe about him. He was the kindling to save me from my loneliness. All of his words were nice. Well MOST were nice, some stung.
In the end I think I ended up falling in love with ME. Or maybe I was severely intoxicated by the way he made me feel, or laugh. Or perhaps I liked him being stuck in my brain 24/7. I liked the love bounce in my step. I liked feeling that someone was with me every moment.
Truth: I was nearly tongue-tied.
But all of this is nonsense. Poof! I must make an end. I have known him for over a year and I don’t even know his name, first or last, we never have spoken on the phone, actually he may not even exist. In fact, I am sure that he doesn’t exist, at least not in the manifestation in which I know him. Poof!
I even allowed him to treat me badly. And I have never allowed any man to humiliate me. I need to examine myself to see why I blindly gave him permission to do that. Really I need to check out why I needed to act out many things with him. It must point to some hole in my personality.
Poof!
I finally knew it was dead when he didn’t respond to my holiday wishes, nor did he check on me after 9/11. He was the first person I thought of. Caring. I would need that no matter what. Whatever. Perhaps it was good for me to see the truth. I fooled myself.
Poof!
Today I took my stainless steel lobster pot outside, filled it with sticks and dried leaves and burned all of the CDs that remind me of him, although I did keep YHF since we didn’t discuss it very briefly and I need that music right now. I have a whole choreography to the first song (it came to me instantly the very first time I heard it!) I burned the emails I had printed out. I ruined my very expensive lobster pot. It is my ironic final gift to him.
Poof!
Everything will be okay.
Poof!
I will not worry about him either. He has many women. He will be fine. He is rewiring himself. He will never read this letter. He won’t even notice that I am gone.
Poof!
I have washed him out …forever.
Already I am starting to feel better.
Whoosh!
--ME
