https://www.angelfire.com/zine2/letters/index.html
melindaedison@hotmail.com
Dear Man-Stuck-In-My-Heart,
Just because I say something, it doesn't necessarily mean its true. Sometimes I joke myself.
Here's something not about writing. It's about truth.
I don't care how many times you wrinkle up your face or make that weird little snort; you are not going to control me. No one will control me.
On the day I say to you, "I love you and I will stay with you forever," I will mean that totally, no jokes, no games. I will stay. We will work out life together. And I promise you I will not play sadgirl to get my way, to manipulate you. I will not make empty threats about leaving you. And you need to take your passive-aggressiveness and shove it up your own ass.
I am glue. You are glue. We will epoxy ourselves together.
So be sure, really, really, really sure that I am the one you want to spend eternity with.
I will give you space and you give me space and at the center of it is US, always US. When it is difficult for you to mingle at that business cocktail party, I will be there for you, and when I have trouble surviving Thanksgiving I will hope you will hold me close and whisper, "Girl, your relatives are all puke-faced aliens."
Together we will rock the world in our own potent monkey-love style. We will have balls-out careers. We will have beautiful babies. (No, you cannot spoil any little girls we have.) We will have the best, happiest life we can achieve. Hand-in-hand, you and me, silvered-haired, sitting under the apple tree. So what if we're corny, WE ROCK!
I am going away for a while. "Going to Carolina in my mind…" a solo roadtrip to Aunt Genevieve's, taking care of her cat, while she is in Brussels. Please take this time to figure out if THIS is what you want. If the answer is "yes" then we move full-on into the possibility of US. If no, then we say a permanent good-bye.
I am tired of tightrope dancing…leaving, coming back, leaving, coming back…a yoyo romance. (My fault, not yours.) I hope you have grown tired of my nonsense.
Your move.
P.S. If you say "no" don't worry about me. I have a Plan B. I get this year's stipend in three weeks. I am going to buy that Jag I have lusted for. I will eat Campbell's Chicken Soup all year, sell more art to pay my bills, and I will get my dog. My Jag, my dog, and I will terrorize America. I will be sad, but okay, as always.
Me
