Letters we are not going to send.

Dear Head Honcho

I miss you today. I know it’s only been about four days or something since we were last riling each other up and saying barely forgivable things to each other, but even so.

Other people in my life, of whom I had high expectations, have disappointed me today. It makes me feel sad. I like you because you are a known quantity. You are such a master at setting the bar of expectations practically on the ground that you rarely disappoint me because there’s almost no remaining margin of error for you to disappoint me within. Although I must say you did give it a good shot last time. But on the whole you don’t let me down. It might not be a very satisfying pretend relationship but at least it is consistent.

It is at times like these, when something else has not gone the way I would have hoped, that returning to you feels the most like coming home. What I would really like to able to do right now is chat to you on Skype or something, tell you my little problems of the day, agree that people are wankers and then have you soothe me by saying filthy things to me and transporting me to that pretend kingdom we have built together in our imaginations in which we have sex a lot and are happy all the time.

I had better not write to you, though, because we only just had our latest round of doomed relationship negotiations a couple of days ago and it is too soon after the fighting. I really miss you, baby. I hope you are having a better day.


2 thoughts on “Letters we are not going to send.”

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