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A Love Letter

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To the Man of My Dreams,



I think the time has come for us to renegotiate our relationship. This isn’t working for me. I think we can both agree this is a little late in coming. Things haven’t been right between us for some time now. Maybe I was just too scared to admit there was something wrong. Maybe I hoped things would work themselves out. Maybe I hoped you would see the discomfort you were causing me.



But… I can’t stay silent any more.



I’m really not placing blame on you. I think we both are responsible for what’s wrong. And, I hope you know, it’s not as if you’re the only thing I’ve sacrificed. Reading and writing, my favorite things, have become short-changed, pushed to the bottom of my to-do list behind grading papers, cooking dinner, and watering my plants. And sadly, I think I took you for granted, knew you would always be there, and I didn’t plan enough time for you.



Although I have tried. I’ve tried to meet you at the same time each night. It’s you who has become fickle and unpredictable.



You send me mixed signals, leave messages I don’t understand, and honestly, sometimes I feel worse after one of your visits than I did beforehand. And I don’t think it should be that way. After one of your visits, I should feel refreshed, energized, full of hope and possibility. But let’s face it, that’s not always the case.



I’ve even tried looking for help. Trying to seek the answers to the puzzles and riddles you leave behind, but all to no avail.



And yet, I still need you. I can’t give you up. After all, it’s quality not quantity. And so the time we spend together should be pleasant, for both of us. Do you enjoy taunting me with nonsensical images of blueberry burgers and a fruit salad that is heavy with cherries? What does that mean? What should I do with images like that? You know how hard I work, the hours I keep, the thoughts that pre-occupy me. Why add to it?



I feel like I’m going in circles. I need you. I do.



But please, Mr. Sandman, when you come to visit, bring me dreams of things like roses and clovers and make my sleepless nights over.



Yours,

Wendy


 

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