A Dear John Letter
Dearest Gross Anatomy (D10.1608.001):
I just can't do you anymore.
Don't get upset, try to understand, it's not
you,
it's me. You must have known from the beginning that this
star-crossed liason was going to end; I mean, I was just some
wide-eyed, off-kelter 23 year old boy, a kid really,
setting foot in the City for the first time, and you, you were such a
mature
cornucopia of incessant quizes, dragged out lectures, and tagged body
parts in lab. It just wasn't meant to be, I mean for god's sake I
went to Catholic school! If I get drop my trousers before the 3rd
date I feel guilty, but yet within the
first two days you boldly, shamelessly barreled ahead and showed me
your body parts.... and in such
intricately intimate details nonetheless. I can only wonder
how
many men and women before me have traced their fingers along your taut
iliac arteries
and probed into the wonders beholden by your pelvic cavity.
Don't cry, no please don't cry, I love you... I wish it didn't come to
this either. No no, it's not that! No! You know it's not
that! I've never engaged
in such marathon-multiple-hour sessions of bodily explorations with
anyone else! I
mean, my past lovers pale in comparison when it comes to the holes and
foramens of yours that we had gone over and explored together.
Stop it, stop it. Now you're being unreasonable. Fine, you
want to know? You want to know why I'm really leaving you? It's
because of the goddamn tearing-me-of-a-new-asshole thing. There,
I
said it, ok?! You happy now?? I admit it, the ass-beatings,
that's why. I
mean, I'm a reasonable person, I can put up with a lot of
your quirks and flaws, but frankly, the ass-tearings have
simply become intolerable. I mean, thrice have you delivered my
ass such thorough thrashings, these sessions which you call
"Exams".... I just can't deal with it
anymore, I have my limits! I spend hours of my free time with
you, awake 'til the wee hours of the nocturn in preparation
for our sessions.... but yet still the my bum receives a
pillaging the next day, regular as clockwork, from 8-10.
So this is it, I am leaving you. Goodbye. Forever.
Don't call, don't write, it'll just be harder for both of us...
I'll live with it. I'll get through it. I'm moving on with
my life, and you should too. No baby we can't do that, no I won't
do that! You know me dropping in and
hanging out over summer would not be good. OK? It's over,
the sooner you realize it, the easier it'll be. Here is a box of
your stuff. That? you keep it, keep
it and try to think of the good times we had shared....
Honey, in another lifetime, in a far-flung future, our paths will cross
again.... some day, a gust of ethereal wind will
carry to me a hint of your plastinated fragrance, some faint whispers
of
special unique words that we had shared...
"petrotympanic"...."pterygoid".... and though their
meanings will long have been effaced from my memories by the passage of
time.... I shall think of you... and dream.... and remember.
But I really did hate
the butt ravashing.
email me, (unless you're Gross
Anatomy, because I've stopped loving you. And I slept with your
sister... actually no, I'm sorry, I didn't, that was just a cheap
shot. I just wanted to hurt you.)