Letter to My Love,
In the past.
Shortly after we broke up I wanted to text you every time I thought of you. "Every time," equated to roughly once every 2 minutes. Thanks to the discipline instilled in me by a healthy fear of my father, the Catholic church, and the Marine Corps, I refrained from texting as often as I was inclined. I would like to attribute my texting discipline to my respect for your feelings, but you’d probably tell me that I’m full of shit, so I’ll just go ahead and give the credit to my dad.
If my memory serves me right, the text messages that I actually did send were immature, silly, naive, cold, devoid of emotion, and as you have communicated to me, not welcomed. A few of those texts were about songs that I wanted to share with you, because you and I are, and always will be, connected by music. I know now that the songs I sent you were beyond inappropriate for someone I had just broken up with. If my memory serves me right, the songs were, “Love me harder” by Ariana Grande, “Jealous” by Nick Jonas, and “What I did for love,” by David Guetta. All of which have great beats and rhythms that would move anyone’s’ hips, but have lyrics that were intended to resonate with someone recently out of a relationship.
Now before I get into exactly how stupid it was for me to text you “OMG, YOU'RE GONNA LOVE THIS SONG,” hear me out.
I rarely absorb the lyrics when I hear great songs, and if I do, I certainly don’t pay attention to the deeper meaning. As you probably know, I have been known to dance like a happy fairy to songs with terribly depressing lyrics about lost love, cheating and death. This is because I’m a naïve 12 year old girl.
When the reality of our breakup hit me in the last week of January, after Grandma got sick again, and my brain started creating these weird things that I think are emotions, I was at the gym. On my headphones popped the song, “What I did for love,” and I was overcome with sadness. I sprinted away from my Freemotion machine to the bathroom in anticipation of powerful sob. The lyrics literally stopped me in my tracks and crushed me like a little kid being told Santa Claus wasn’t real. There was a chemical shift in my brain, and for the entire month of February I was so lonely without you that I couldn’t enjoy music. I couldn’t dance, couldn’t sing in the car, and couldn’t appreciate a good rhythm.
As you know all too well, music moves me like a hard cock moves a gay man. I am mesmerized by it, and my body becomes controlled by it. I am drawn to it, and if the music is good my soul becomes filled with joy, elation, and love, much the way a gay man’s soul is fulfilled by a fresh hard cock. (Sorry, I’ve been venting with my gay friends lately since they’re the only ones who will listen to me talk about feelings, and when I’m not quiefing out of my mouth, I’m listening to them talk about cock. It’s getting old.)
All cock’s and queers aside, I am deeply sorry for coldly, selfishly, and naively texting you as often as I did, right after breaking your heart. I’m sorry I didn’t give you the space you needed.
Actually, I’m sorry I texted you at all, I should have left you alone completely. I just missed my bestie, I missed my partner, and I missed my love. I selfishly wanted to feel connected with you any way possible, without everything else a partnership requires. Even if you didn’t respond to my text, Just knowing that you read it, heard my inner voice, thought of me, and thought of music, make me feel connected to you. That was enough to fulfill the selfish little hole of loneliness gaping in my heart without you.
I still think of you often, although every two minutes might have been improved to once every three minutes. It’s a work in progress.
With love always,
Donny
In the past.
Shortly after we broke up I wanted to text you every time I thought of you. "Every time," equated to roughly once every 2 minutes. Thanks to the discipline instilled in me by a healthy fear of my father, the Catholic church, and the Marine Corps, I refrained from texting as often as I was inclined. I would like to attribute my texting discipline to my respect for your feelings, but you’d probably tell me that I’m full of shit, so I’ll just go ahead and give the credit to my dad.
If my memory serves me right, the text messages that I actually did send were immature, silly, naive, cold, devoid of emotion, and as you have communicated to me, not welcomed. A few of those texts were about songs that I wanted to share with you, because you and I are, and always will be, connected by music. I know now that the songs I sent you were beyond inappropriate for someone I had just broken up with. If my memory serves me right, the songs were, “Love me harder” by Ariana Grande, “Jealous” by Nick Jonas, and “What I did for love,” by David Guetta. All of which have great beats and rhythms that would move anyone’s’ hips, but have lyrics that were intended to resonate with someone recently out of a relationship.
Now before I get into exactly how stupid it was for me to text you “OMG, YOU'RE GONNA LOVE THIS SONG,” hear me out.
I rarely absorb the lyrics when I hear great songs, and if I do, I certainly don’t pay attention to the deeper meaning. As you probably know, I have been known to dance like a happy fairy to songs with terribly depressing lyrics about lost love, cheating and death. This is because I’m a naïve 12 year old girl.
When the reality of our breakup hit me in the last week of January, after Grandma got sick again, and my brain started creating these weird things that I think are emotions, I was at the gym. On my headphones popped the song, “What I did for love,” and I was overcome with sadness. I sprinted away from my Freemotion machine to the bathroom in anticipation of powerful sob. The lyrics literally stopped me in my tracks and crushed me like a little kid being told Santa Claus wasn’t real. There was a chemical shift in my brain, and for the entire month of February I was so lonely without you that I couldn’t enjoy music. I couldn’t dance, couldn’t sing in the car, and couldn’t appreciate a good rhythm.
As you know all too well, music moves me like a hard cock moves a gay man. I am mesmerized by it, and my body becomes controlled by it. I am drawn to it, and if the music is good my soul becomes filled with joy, elation, and love, much the way a gay man’s soul is fulfilled by a fresh hard cock. (Sorry, I’ve been venting with my gay friends lately since they’re the only ones who will listen to me talk about feelings, and when I’m not quiefing out of my mouth, I’m listening to them talk about cock. It’s getting old.)
All cock’s and queers aside, I am deeply sorry for coldly, selfishly, and naively texting you as often as I did, right after breaking your heart. I’m sorry I didn’t give you the space you needed.
Actually, I’m sorry I texted you at all, I should have left you alone completely. I just missed my bestie, I missed my partner, and I missed my love. I selfishly wanted to feel connected with you any way possible, without everything else a partnership requires. Even if you didn’t respond to my text, Just knowing that you read it, heard my inner voice, thought of me, and thought of music, make me feel connected to you. That was enough to fulfill the selfish little hole of loneliness gaping in my heart without you.
I still think of you often, although every two minutes might have been improved to once every three minutes. It’s a work in progress.
With love always,
Donny