My dear Jane,
There is no easy way to say this. But let me start by telling you that you’re a very special woman. I’ve done my fair share of dating, but never have I met someone so obviously lively and intelligent as you. That is why writing this letter is so difficult. Recent disagreements and misunderstandings between you and I have pushed me to re-evaluate our relationship, and I should tell you I’ve resolved to part ways with you. I’m sorry, Jane, but it’s over.
I’m sure you’ll be asking yourself “Why?” I can understand your pain, as I’ve certainly been in your shoes a few times myself. So for the sake of making a clean break I thought I should lay out some of my reasons for parting ways.
I took particular offense when, on our second date, you exclaimed, “All men are such pigs!” I couldn’t help but think that somehow you meant I was a pig. Perhaps it was the use of the word all, or the fact that you were poking me in the sternum with a hooked finger as you were saying it. (By the way, your finger left a bruise.) Whether you meant to or not, I must point out that you snarled yourself in a sweeping generalization—not to mention that men and pigs are of completely different species, and are, therefore, mutually exclusive. Don’t get me wrong, man-pigs may exist. As a child I once saw a man-dog at the County Fair, so who’s to say there aren’t a few man-pigs out there. But to assume that all men are part pig is simply ridiculous. Unless, of course, you were merely speaking metaphorically.
Positive communication became an issue for me, Jane. At first, our late night phone conversations had a nervous “teens-in-love” tone, and the romance was almost palpable. Remember how I would call you multiple times, and you, disguising your voice, would say you were “Jane’s roommate”? This was cute, since I knew you lived alone, but the frequent hang-ups got old as time wore on. When you had your phone number changed I had a difficult time getting through to you. And you seemed cool and distant when I’d wait for you to get out of work, sometimes sitting in the parking lot for hours with my car engine idling. Frankly, Jane, the romance faded.
I thought that creep was your private pet name for me, so you can imagine how alarmed I was when your friend, Joey, showed up at my apartment and asked, “Are you the creep who keeps calling Jane?” At that moment I thought: what other private details of our love had you shared so openly? And then I thought: why is Joey pushing his way into my apartment? And why is he hitting me?
Certainly, I’ve done many things of which I’m not proud, and I wouldn’t want you to think that this break-up is all your fault. Despite my denials, I was the one who slashed your tires. I meant no malice by this. In fact, the story behind the whole incident is a funny one, and perhaps some day I’ll tell all, and you and I can have a good laugh.
In addition, I was not “throwing rocks” through your window, as the police report says. I was merely tossing pebbles at your bedroom pane to get your attention. Clearly, I misjudged the size of the brick I threw, and I apologize for the misunderstanding that ensued. Although, in my own defense, I have to say that your lawyer was being unfair when he referred to me as “crazed.” Was Romeo crazed? Or Prince Charming? I fear his statements might have tainted the jury against me, especially his frequent use of the words “obsessed,” “demented,” and “human time bomb.” (I’m not even sure what a human time bomb is, but I’m assuming it’s not a compliment.) This was the final straw.
So when you walk into the courtroom tomorrow, don’t expect any more loving glances or stolen moments. Don’t expect me to blow kisses or exclaim loudly “I AM THE GOD ALMIGHTY!” Those days, my dear Jane, are over. I feel that it’s best we just go our separate ways, like in Casablanca—you know, the final moment when Humphrey Bogart looks deep into Ingrid Bergman’s eyes and calls her a kid? That’s how it feels sometimes. Perhaps we’ll enjoy one last embrace at the sentencing.
Bye for now, my love.