An unconventional love letter

My Dear Jeremy,

You ever meet a drug addict who cant get a fixk? You know, someone going through withdrawal or somethin' in rehab. You ever see how they look? With their pale drawn in cheeks, twitchy as all hell, eyes sunken in and almost as yellow as the snow dogs toilet on… that’s kind of how I feel when I think of you. Yeah, when I think of you I think of an addiction, a virus or a plague that I cant live without. Like ciggs or joints or weed. We both know I cant live without my weed. So you're.. you're like a killer. My murderer, so to speak. The end of me. Of course I didn’t realize this when we met. Never thought I’d feel the way I feel about you for anyone actually. But I did. Do. Hell. And at first sight too.
^.^

Remember that morning we first met? I know, random, but I just remembered.

A walk on a dewy park, fog across a tan walkway, trees blossoming and whistling in tune with the birds. I remember a comfortable jog, my seeing you up ahead, suntanned and gorgeous, my clumsy stumble and your catching me before I fall. I mean, a romantics every dream is to meet a cute guy who’s forced to be a Hero. Even without knowing it. Like Clint Eastwood. Oh yeah. =Cowboy walks off into the sunset leaving said damsel watching in awe.= Lust and awe. A Disney original Ike and Tina with a southern accent.

But, okay. So you weren’t a cowboy and this wasn’t a western. This was more a modern day uh… Hamlet. Only I was Hamlet, ya know? I was this powerful and loyal person and then a scheming, demented bitch… Hamlets wife, kinda just took over. And in case your wondering, you’re the Hamlets Wife Bitch. But just like Hamlet, it took me a little too long to find out and once I had, it was too late. You’d wined and dined me. Like a queen I was worshiped. You joked and you gleamed, while inside was your scheme to take me for all I had. Oh yeah, Tin Man… You heartless chunk of metal. You did your job well.

You led me on. You made me smile. You made me believe that I was the shit!! and feet over head.. or was it head over heels... or maybe butt over eyes… hell, I don’t know. But whatever you did, it worked. I mean REALLY worked.

The strolls on the beach. Those kisses at sunset. Champagne at Navy pier. Whispers in candle light. Oh yeah, Mr. Wrong- you unusually suave man you. You did good.

At least for the first three weeks. But I caught on. Oh yeah.. I caught on.

You scheming prick.

Week one:

It was blue eyes, black hair, 6’2 with a movie star physique, smile baby, smile. Date every night. Possessive but not insane. Clever but not calculating… oh yeah, you had me at hello.

Week two:

Sexily mussed long hair is cut, gelled, jeans aren’t ironed, glasses conceal your eyes… and origional bad ass emerges. Sexy. Fun. I like it… but… Dandruff. Attitude. Beady eyes. Weight gain. But even still… a big Kool-Aid smile remains.

Week three:

Haven’t met your parents over the holidays, but I don’t mind. You hang out with friends, all sexy, all jerks, all ‘man-whores’, all as humane as Hitler on a bad day. All want a piece of the girlfriend (me) and you don’t care. Your smile is now fading. Parties happen regularly without me. Secrets. Sleepless in Seattle is my favorite movie and I’m now living it. Rains every day in my heart.

Day one of week four, your missing. Unheard from.

Day two of week four, your found. But you have no desire to speak to me.

Day three of week four, the truth comes out because you cant stand my nagging.

You took a nap at a friends. Got drunk. Took a nap. Forgot to call.

That’s your excuse.

Bullshit.

You try again.

Day four of week four. Went out. Got drunk. Took a nap at an Ex’s. Forgot to call. But nothing happened?

Bullshit. I’m fed up. Your junk in my house has been thrown out.

Your tires have been slashed.

Your damn job has been jeopardized since I know your boss.

You thought I was kidding when we had that earlier discussion.

Week two, eighth date, I say, “I don’t dig cheating. I’m a very vengeful person when it comes to that. I have that mentality ‘don’t unto others as you wish to be done’ and fully believe in ‘what comes around goes around.’ You pollute the earth. The earth’ll retaliate and you’re family will end up missin’ after a tornado. You fuck with earth. Earths gonna fuck with you. So don’t cheat on me. Period. If you don’t want to be with me, it kills me to know that, but say something. But don’t cheat on me.’

Ø Don’t cheat.

But of course you fucked up. You stepped out of line. And then you have the gall to call the cops on me!? It should be ME enraged. I’m the forest fire you threw gasoline on.

Jeremy!… Look. I’m not writing this letter to point out your many flaws. Your many screws too loose. You already know you’re a sack of shit. And that you need to grow up. I am writing you this letter to say that I believe your in the wrong. And that I believe this is backwards. My sitting behind bars, for throwing a brick in your window is a minute crime compared to the one you committed on me after all that I sacrificed. … and I have sacrificed much. But you know what, it’s cool. It’s cool Hamlets Wife. I forgive you.

And I also felt you should know, that I hate you.

You are the blood that pumps my heart to life. You are the colds, the rushes of adrinaline, the calm, the tranquil, the inner workings of me and I despite the fact that you are Hamlets Wife… Hamlet couldn’t live without you. You know?

I may hate you most of the time, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re my wife.

I’m a paradox… I know. But I just thought I should let you know… I cant wait till I get parole. I’m dying to see you.

Yours truly,

Iris J. Khristensin