Letters I would send if...

You always ask me why I keep trying.   You really don’t know?  Or will you not admit it to yourself?  I did finally just come out and told you exactly why not too long ago.  You just looked at me, never changing expression!  (At least you didn’t frown, you were such a happy girl that day, but noncommittal does seem to be your favored attitude).  You could also ask C, she tells me (and you) that I am in love with you all the time; in fact A accused me of it about three years ago, at which time I totally denied it…guess I couldn’t see, but it was probably the whole “she’s my boss thing”.  But you’re not my boss anymore, I don’t even work there.

But anyhow, I am not sure you know what I am trying to “do”.  Believe it or not, I’m not trying to get you into the sack.  (Okay, I AM a guy, so I cannot deny that hasn’t crossed my mind at some point.  But that’s not primary thing.)

But mostly what I try for is to get some sign of reciprocity of feelings.  Do you realize how seldom you even look me in the eye?  I throw double entendres and compliments out there to get some kind of a response from you, but you are the champion of maintaining a non-responsive, flat affect when it comes to acknowledging me.  Do you truly not have any feeling of fondness/friendliness for me beyond “the guy that fixes stuff for you”?  You know, I am probably the safest guy in the world to flirt with.  I am not the guy that wants to screw you then dump you.  I’m not trying for any ulterior motives, and I sure as hell am not doing anything behind my wife’s back.

I just can’t figure out why I’m the one guy you won’t flirt back with.  In fact, you take pleasure in pointing out that I have exactly zero chance to ever be the type you WOULD consider.  Yes, yes, I know, there’s nothing wrong with the two of us being (platonic) friends.  But, sometimes, sometimes I wish I could not care.

You stopped loving me long before I stopped loving you. You refused to call it quits because you wanted me to continue to be the bad person in this relationship. It made it easier to tell all our friends that I left and that I cheated. It made it easier for you to be deemed the white knight, Mr. Perfect and to get sympathy from everyone. It made it all nice and neat, like a pretty package under the Christmas tree.

However, if people really knew the truth, I wonder how much tarnish would form on your white knight attire. I wonder if anyone would ever call me and say they were sorry for bad mouthing me, judging me and hating me. And honestly, if they did I would probably hang up on them.

You never took care of anything in our relationship, including me or us. You never faced reality or wanted to take the responsibility that came along with living in the suburbs, owning a house, becoming an adult. You wanted all the perks without having to face the problems. You still don’t have your shit together. Even after the divorce, you still are not being a man and owning up to your part of the bargain.

I’m done dealing with you nicely, putting on the front of being submissive and kind, trying to “just get through this.” If I have to mop up one more mess that you left undone after saying you would handle it, I am sending you a bill and contacting a lawyer to force you to live up to the document you signed. I’m done. I’ve had enough.

I hope your new girlfriend has a degree in accounting and psychology, because she is going to need it.

Rick,

Yours was the first penis I ever saw up close to my face. That was pretty traumatic. I didn’t intend to see, but apparently YOU intended I see it, since you whipped that thing out at me and pulled my face close. Nothing like being 13 and having some wobbly, slithering tube-like structure coming at your face like I was stuck in some messed up 3D porn flick with tentacles.

But I got over the penis thing. Because you were also my very first French Kiss. Ooh, how I’d read about that and had seen it in movies! It looked so romantic! I was young, but what the hell, I was game. To me you were an older, more experienced boy of 15!

Dude.

WTF was that? You are NOT supposed to lick my face! They did NOT do that on my TV! And slobber? Really? So much spit everywhere. Dripping saliva, feeling like I’d just smashed half a cantaloupe around my chin, mouth and nose!

You turned me off trying any further french kissing for 2 years.

Thanks a lot man.