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Tuesday August 22nd 2006, 11:23 pm
Filed under: All Letters,Love Letters

To the wife I can’t afford to divorce,

I looked into the cost of divorce today—$249, without legal representation. I have two options: Get the divorce finalized and be out of wedlock with you, or move out of the city without getting a divorce (but leaving you alone to continue your sad pseudo-happy life). The divorce is the most pressing thing on your mind, I know, but let me assure you that if I left the city, the situation would improve. You would feel safer if I was gone. It’s so strange that I can put myself in your shoes, so strange to look at myself through such fearful eyes. You are scared of me, even though I have no intention of harming you or any of your friends. There are no secret plans, no machinations to destroy you, nothing. There is no convincing you, however, of my good nature. You go back into your cerebral dungeons, and padlock them with the most weighty and absurd chains. I don’t mind your fear, though I do believe it is a product of YOUR own past, and not the moments of anger you and I have shared. The night I screamed at you—the night you went to Jhonen’s hotel room—I was convinced you hated me. And now you do. (How’s that for a self-fulfilling prophecy?) The second night I yelled because you tried to convince me that “you” were simply a projection of what I wanted you to be, that your love was just a reflection of my need for your love. I took this to mean that you never loved me (truly) and had been lying to me throughout our whole relationship and marriage. Yes I screamed and called you names. You can’t understand what was going on in my head, I felt like you were a big liar, a liar who turned the tables and blamed me for being afraid. I loved you so dearly. It’s amazing how this love has morphed into a most brilliant hate. This weekend I have to sign our car over to Justin’s parents. How will I get the pink slip, if you still refuse to see me? Will you leave it in the mailbox? Will you tape it to the door? Will you be gone when I arrive? Will you be inside the apartment holding a knife in your tightly clenched fist? It doesn’t matter really. As I promised, your safety is my concern. I will not harm you because I have no desire to. I wish you could understand this; unfortunately, you think I am your enemy. I’m sorry you feel this way.

Best thoughts to you,

The ex-ish-boy.

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