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Dear John letter
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Dear wife nr. 19,
By the time you read this, I'll be a member of the Fantastic Four.
I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but this world simply isn't big enough for the both of us.
I know this might seem like an insidious scheme to dominate the universe
to you, seeing as we made all those plans to live together in happily unwedded bliss, or a reasonable facsimile, but I just don't see things working out that way.
I'm sorry about this — I think. I just need more men, on some kind of rotating schedule.
I want to tell you that I think you are evil incarnate, but I don't think we're right for each other.
First of all, we're not really compatible. You are wanted in nineteen states,
and I am vastly less intelligent than that.
You like guessing the weight of elderly women, scratching yourself publicly, and watching DaxFlame on YouTube while singing "Lucy in the Sky of Diamonds",
and I'm just not sure I can ever share your joy in those things.
How can two people so different ever make it for the long haul? I think we should date but only so I'll get another shot at killing your for real.
But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever someone asks me if I've ever picked up a hitchhiker I really regret picking up.
I'd really like us to become a Heathcliff and Catherine-like ghost couple and creep out softhearted onlookers in our restless afterlife,
if that's okay with you. I think we can do it.
We had some good times, but then I woke up and realised that it was just a dream.
Take care of yourself and never forget where you leave the keys. Honestly, those things are are a PAIN to find again.
Fuck off,
~ [Insert name of author here].
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