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Wednesday, February 11, 2026
Dear
By the time you read this, I'll be transferring the last of our mutual savings to a bank account in Geneva.
I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but no, I am not going to stop sending these letters just because the judge I know this might seem like a big sick demented joke in a vortex of meaninglessness to you, seeing as we made all those plans to vacation in the Ivory Coast, and smuggle bits of it home to sell on the black market, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — but as a bisexual, I'm interested in only two kinds of people — and quite frankly, you don't fit into either category. I just need to engage in homicidal behavior on a massive scale. It can not be corrected but I have no other way to fulfill my needs. I want to tell you that I think you are a real pain in the ass, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are possessed by Pazuzu, and I am a champion pie eating finalist. You like forcing naughty school children to read the Necronomicon, peeling watermelons, and making faces at babies until they cry, 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 other species. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I desperately try another time traveling session to prevent the sad chain of events that led me to meet you in the first place. I'd really like us to become Siamese twins (we might have to undergo an extensive surgery for that though), if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, up until the effect of the morphine wore off. Take care of yourself and never forget that I'm much happier without you.
~ Jane. |