|The Suicide Letter|
Why are you still attracted to me? What keeps you holding on to something that you can never have? Can't you face reality? Every night we talk, thousands of miles apart, and you profess your love for me. Why? What do you love? My voice? A memory of me? We rarely see each other, so why keep saying it: "I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU...." It seems delusional and a little sick.
We had something once, that is true. There was fire there once, I don't deny this. There was passion there, and there was dedication and there was a future. But now, you choose to live apart from me yet you cannot let me go. Please let me go. PLEASE.
With every phone call, with every time I see your name on the caller ID, my heart simultaneously leaps and sinks. You are dragging me through a beautiful version of hell, the one that Dante missed. There should be a special hell built for longing, for unrequited love and for vain passion. A special place, between Purgatory and the Barrators. Locked in a dance for eternity, promising but never touching -- talking about love without loving. I am here already, baby. I am here and have been here. Join me or leave me.
I know you'll call me soon. Possibly tonight. You'll draw me into your web of love, hypotizing me with your voice and the memory of your lips, mouth and eyes. Your body and how you move against me. You will remind me of all this, and I will remember. I want to forget, but I will never forget as long as you keep pulling me back into the waters of those days. I drown over and over, and you are my murderer.
Kill me, baby. I love you for it.