MrBishop
Well-Known Member
Dear Susan :
I know the counsellor said we shouldn't contact each other
during our "cooling off" period, but I couldn't wait anymore. The
day you left, I swore I'd never talk to you again. But that was just
the wounded little boy in me talking.
Still, I never wanted to be the first one to make contact. In my
fantasies, it was always you who would come crawling back to me. I
guess my pride needed that. But now I see that my pride's cost me a
lot of things. I'm tired of pretending I don't miss you. I don't
care about looking bad anymore. I don't care who makes the first
move as long as one of us does.
Maybe it's time we let our hearts speak as loudly as our hurt.
And this is what my heart says... "There's no one like you, Susan."
I look for you in the eyes and breasts of every woman I see, but
they're not you. They're not even close.
Two weeks ago, I met this girl at Ithaca Bar and brought her
home with me. I don't say this to hurt you, but just to illustrate
the depth of my desperation. She was young, maybe 19, with one of
those perfect bodies that only youth and maybe a childhood spent ice
skating can give you. I mean, just a perfect body. Jugs you wouldn't
believe and an ass like a tortoise shell. Every man's dream, right?
But as I sat on the couch being blown by this stunner, I thought,
look at the stuff we've made important in our lives. It's all so
superficial. What does a perfect body mean? Does it make her better
in bed? Well, in this case, yes. But you see what I'm getting at.
Does it make her a better person? Does she have a better heart than
my moderately attractive Susan? I doubt it. And I'd never really
thought of that before.
I Don't know, maybe I'm just growing up a little. Later, after
I'd tossed her about a half a pint of throat yoghurt, I found myself
thinking, "Why do I feel so drained and empty?" It wasn't just her
flawless technique or her slutty, shameless hunger, but something
else. Some niggling feeling of loss. Why did it feel so incomplete?
And then it hit me. It didn't feel the same because you weren't
there, Susan, to watch. Do you know what I mean? Nothing feels the
same without you. Jesus, Susan, I'm just going crazy without you.
And everything I do just reminds me of you.
Do you remember Carol, that single mom we met in Upper Side last
year? Well, she dropped by last week with a pan of lasagne. She said
she figured I wasn't eating right without a woman around. I didn't
know what she meant till later, but that's not the real story.
Anyway, we had a few glasses of wine and the next thing you know
we're banging away in our old bedroom. And this tart's a total
monster in the sack. She's giving me everything, you know like a
real woman does when she's not hung up about her weight or her
career and whether the kids can hear us. And all of a sudden she
spots that tilting mirror on your grandmother's old vanity. So she
puts it on the floor and we straddle it, right, so we can watch
ourselves. And it's totally hot, but it makes me sad too. 'Cause I
can't help thinking, "Why didn't Susan ever put the mirror on the
floor? We've had this old vanity for what, 14 years, and we never
used it as a sex aid."
Saturday, your sister drops by with my copy of the restraining
order. I mean, Vicky's just a kid and all, but she's got a pretty
good head on her shoulders and she's been a real friend to me during
this painful time. She's given me lots of good counsel about you and
about women in general. She's pulling for us to get back together,
Susan, She really is. So we're drinking in a hot bath and talking
about happier times. Here's this teenage girl with the same DNA as
you and all I can do is think of how much she looked like you when
you were 18. And that just about makes me cry. And then it turns
out Vicky's really into the whole anal thing and that gets me to
thinking about how many times I pressured you about trying it and
how that probably fuelled some of the bitterness between us. But do
you see how even then, when I'm thrusting inside your baby sister's
cinnamon ring, all I can do is think of you?
It's true, Susan. In your heart you know it. Don't you think we
could start over? Just wipe out all the grievances and start fresh?
I think we can.
If you feel the same please please please let me know,
otherwise, can you let me know where the Sky remote control is.
John
I know the counsellor said we shouldn't contact each other
during our "cooling off" period, but I couldn't wait anymore. The
day you left, I swore I'd never talk to you again. But that was just
the wounded little boy in me talking.
Still, I never wanted to be the first one to make contact. In my
fantasies, it was always you who would come crawling back to me. I
guess my pride needed that. But now I see that my pride's cost me a
lot of things. I'm tired of pretending I don't miss you. I don't
care about looking bad anymore. I don't care who makes the first
move as long as one of us does.
Maybe it's time we let our hearts speak as loudly as our hurt.
And this is what my heart says... "There's no one like you, Susan."
I look for you in the eyes and breasts of every woman I see, but
they're not you. They're not even close.
Two weeks ago, I met this girl at Ithaca Bar and brought her
home with me. I don't say this to hurt you, but just to illustrate
the depth of my desperation. She was young, maybe 19, with one of
those perfect bodies that only youth and maybe a childhood spent ice
skating can give you. I mean, just a perfect body. Jugs you wouldn't
believe and an ass like a tortoise shell. Every man's dream, right?
But as I sat on the couch being blown by this stunner, I thought,
look at the stuff we've made important in our lives. It's all so
superficial. What does a perfect body mean? Does it make her better
in bed? Well, in this case, yes. But you see what I'm getting at.
Does it make her a better person? Does she have a better heart than
my moderately attractive Susan? I doubt it. And I'd never really
thought of that before.
I Don't know, maybe I'm just growing up a little. Later, after
I'd tossed her about a half a pint of throat yoghurt, I found myself
thinking, "Why do I feel so drained and empty?" It wasn't just her
flawless technique or her slutty, shameless hunger, but something
else. Some niggling feeling of loss. Why did it feel so incomplete?
And then it hit me. It didn't feel the same because you weren't
there, Susan, to watch. Do you know what I mean? Nothing feels the
same without you. Jesus, Susan, I'm just going crazy without you.
And everything I do just reminds me of you.
Do you remember Carol, that single mom we met in Upper Side last
year? Well, she dropped by last week with a pan of lasagne. She said
she figured I wasn't eating right without a woman around. I didn't
know what she meant till later, but that's not the real story.
Anyway, we had a few glasses of wine and the next thing you know
we're banging away in our old bedroom. And this tart's a total
monster in the sack. She's giving me everything, you know like a
real woman does when she's not hung up about her weight or her
career and whether the kids can hear us. And all of a sudden she
spots that tilting mirror on your grandmother's old vanity. So she
puts it on the floor and we straddle it, right, so we can watch
ourselves. And it's totally hot, but it makes me sad too. 'Cause I
can't help thinking, "Why didn't Susan ever put the mirror on the
floor? We've had this old vanity for what, 14 years, and we never
used it as a sex aid."
Saturday, your sister drops by with my copy of the restraining
order. I mean, Vicky's just a kid and all, but she's got a pretty
good head on her shoulders and she's been a real friend to me during
this painful time. She's given me lots of good counsel about you and
about women in general. She's pulling for us to get back together,
Susan, She really is. So we're drinking in a hot bath and talking
about happier times. Here's this teenage girl with the same DNA as
you and all I can do is think of how much she looked like you when
you were 18. And that just about makes me cry. And then it turns
out Vicky's really into the whole anal thing and that gets me to
thinking about how many times I pressured you about trying it and
how that probably fuelled some of the bitterness between us. But do
you see how even then, when I'm thrusting inside your baby sister's
cinnamon ring, all I can do is think of you?
It's true, Susan. In your heart you know it. Don't you think we
could start over? Just wipe out all the grievances and start fresh?
I think we can.
If you feel the same please please please let me know,
otherwise, can you let me know where the Sky remote control is.
John
...erm, since when was a guy able to write a coherent break up letter more than a few lines long???
, now she sees the real motivation for such a marathon 'effort'(!??) 
