Wednesday, November 23, 2005

An Open letter [hic] to my ex

I write to you, not for a response, [for your email is blocked and I do not wish to hear from you] but merely, should you read me, to ask you to think about why you left a woman who was your dream; if indeed your dream was to sail the Seven Seas with love and with your own guile and adventure. I cannot believe that we met and we disintergrated. That the interference of your family doomed us. For I was your dream. Our paths were the same. Same phone numbers. Same cats. Same mother/gf names/ same feelings within dreams/ same friend[contact Tom] and yet, wham bam, over. because of shit.I think you found and lost your soulmate. Really.Unless, that is, you were not serious about being a sailor. If, in fact, your current frolic with the sea, is merely a way to make yourself feel more interesting, more important.What do you really seek? To sail the seas? Really?Or are you trying to fill a void that your own mistakes created for yourself? Oh, how I wish I was low enough to welcome you back into my life, but you know something, it is I who is the real 'renegade', it is I who is true to the sea and to my idea of love. Look closely at yourself, my darling, you but hop aboard other's dreams. I was willing to have you share a dream. You forsook me over your parents. And I loved you.I loved you truly and I but want you to realise and know that you won't ever find another woman like me. Never. Unless you were a liar about your dreams. Which, I think, you are.You are no more a sailor, than I was meant to be a lifetime teacher.
Mxxxxxxxxx
Ja ne, my darling
M

2 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

Dearest Maria,

I write to you, not for a response, [for you've blocked my emails and I do not wish to hear from you but would vouchsafe to reply since I do pine for you every minute of the night and day and do not know how I've made it through this past day let alone the past month without the smell of your morning-after drinking breath, the site of your black underwear hanging on the clothesline and the reek of the piss-filled cat box in your hovel] but merely, should you read this, to ask you to think about why you left the perfect man who was your dream of dreams, king of kings, shag of shags, sugarpies of sugarpies, smoker of smokers, Italian Cassanova of Italian Cassanovas --you get the point; if indeed your dream was to sail around and around stinking Guaymas harbor for the afternoon with a bit of windy talk and with your own saccharine emotions. What a great time that was! I know full well why, and am glad, that we met and we disintergrated. This is how it should be, at least for me. I had a fine time for a short while, like eating a juicy hamburger with a beer when you're really hungry, and have now moved on. To desert, so to speak. End of story. Now I have to take a poo after eating all that. Your claims that the interference of your family doomed us are the prattling of a immature ninny. The only interference I perceived was from the gods, who willed it so. It was not to last. Though I was your dream, you were not mine. At least, not a dream for more than few months, which was plenty for me. (Time for desert, maybe an aperitif too.) Our paths were the same --for a while. We shared the same napkin, 'tis true. And I cray about that (actually, I don't). Same phone numbers, but I'm not into Kabbalah numerology so I don't put much stock in pure chance like that. Same cats, but now I've got a dog (and a parrot, on my shoulder, to go with the golden earring that all sailors have). And yes, wham bam, thank you ma'am, over. That was good while it lasted! I think you found and lost your soulmate but I found and moved on. Really. But perhaps you're not serious about being a sailor. If, in fact, your current frolic with the sea on that big boat is not merely a way to forget all of your failures, inconsistencies and lies. What do I really seek? To sail the seas. To shag whom and when and where I wish. To love as I like, to party, to explore without the ball and chain of you tied to my leg night and day crying your tears to fill an ocean of endless sorrows. Or perhaps with your tears and endless hand-wringing you are trying to fill a void that your own mistakes created for yourself? Oh, how I'm sure you wish I would walk back into your life on bloodied hands and scraped knees, but don't count on it. I am true to the sea and to my idea of love, which I will pursue wherever and with whomever and as many times over as I like. I come, I leave. Veni, vidi, vici --I came, I saw, I conquered. Look closely at me, my darling, you but hopped aboard my dream. You won't ever find another man like me. Never. Not at your age. Unless you change your hairstyle, go on a diet, lose the attitude, bleach your teeth, start exercising, and become less of a flake. Which, I think, you are. I may be a flake, but you are more of a flake. I am no more of a flake than you are. We are both flakes, albeit of different flakiness.

Mxxxxxxxxx
Ja ne, my flaky darling
F

10:54 PM  
Blogger Wonkey donkey said...

Well done Peter Daniels, but you don't think we'd really think that was Francesco, do you?

2:43 PM  

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