For Christmas this year he gave me a pair of tickets to the symphony.  Good tickets, great seats.  They reside tucked under a magnet on my fridge, mocking me. At Christmas, our future seemed bright.  Now?  Not so sure.  If I don’t hear anything from him before then, I plan to return the tickets to him onTuesday, by mail.  Below are two versions of the enclosure letter.  I leave it to you, dear readers, to pick the winner. 

Option 1: 

It would be a shame for these tickets to go to waste.  You are the only person that I would want to go with and apparently you’re not talking to me at the moment, for reasons known only to you, and that makes things like going to a concert slightly tricky.  Use them or not, your choice. 

 Along those lines, the state of our relationship has also been your choice and that makes me beyond furious.  I am not a toy to be used when the mood strikes or you need to feel, oh I don’t know, better about yourself? That said, I am even more furious with myself.  For letting you do this to me again.  When we started spending time together again this fall my friends thought I was insane.  I rationalized it, and you, to them, and to some extent, myself, by saying that a year had passed.  We were both different people.  Our circumstances had changed.  There was no way you would hurt me that badly again.  No way.  Yeah, whatever. 

For the first time I saw you as a flawed, human, not the perfect image that you want to project to the world.  You were vulnerable and you let me see that.  Do you know when I find you most attractive?  When you slip up, make mistakes, get lost, get embarrassed.  That’s what makes you real to me.    You are two people, really.  The public one, the one you present to most people – superficial, shallow, charming, flat.  The other one, the real one I should think or hope, is fabulous.  Warm and candid and flawed and loving.  Too bad that person isn’t around much these days. 

What makes me most angry and upset is that I let this happen.  Again.  I kept thinking to myself, when you announced, by email no less, that you were “going to ground” and “needed to do some personal work”, that sure, ok, he needs to do this, God does he need to do this – get your marriage sorted, get yourself sorted.  Just get on with it.  My first reaction, however, was to throw up and cry.  Not again, dammit!  So instead, I called you on it.  Asked you point blank:  are you fucking off on me again?  “Absolutely not” was your answer.  Alright then, time you got.  Sure we chatted and emailed and met up for coffe or the odd walk or whatever, but that’s not the same.

 You know what I’m like.  Your actions pre-January were quite clear – you were a part of my life.  You had dinner with my family, for chrissakes, twice!! Then all of a sudden, not.  You have to know the affect that would have on me.  Especially since you haven’t even had the courtesy to actually tell me.  I deserve at least that, don’t you think?

I think we have proven that we incapable of being friends.  We’ve tried a couple of times now and it just doesn’t work.  The best thing for me, the only thing for me, is to not have you in my life in any way whatsoever.  Ever again.  The thought of that makes me so sad.  But anything else just isn’t fair to me,  You aren’t being fair to me.  You have made all of these decisions for you and that’s not fair to me.  Quite frankly I don’t have another 40 pounds to lose and I can’t afford to have your shit screw up my life one more time. 

 It’s too bad,really, because I really like you. Maybe even love you.  Who knows.  I hope you manage to get your life together soon, for your sake and for the sake of those around you.  You have the potential to be an amazing man; someone I saw myself being with for a long time.  You’re not there yet and I honestly don’t know if you ever will be, but I do so hope you will.

Option 2:

It would be a shame for these tickets to go to waste.  You are the only person I wold want to go with, but apparently you’re not speaking to me at the moment for reasons known only to you, and that makes things like going to concerts together a little tricky.  Use them or not, your choice.

Oh, and when you manage to pull your head out of your ass, let me know.  I’ll buy you a celebratory cocktail.

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