Open letter to M

Hi Marie,

First of all, thanks for letting me use your real name. I was getting tired of just writing “M” whenever I wrote about you. Second, this letter is probably going to be shit. It’s 1am and I’m drunk on a lot of beers and that shitty “Summer drink” we had in that bar, just half an hour ago. And, third… Well, fuck it. There are too many things I wanna say to you and I prefer just making a list. A drunk list.

Thanks for helping me realize I was normal for feeling like shit every time my ex talked about her sexual past. She made it look like I was a sexist South American Neanderthal whenever I reacted hurt and angry when she discussed the gruesome details of her sex-life with me. It’s cool to know now that, even you, wouldn’t be as insensitive and stupid to do that.
I am sorry for not being able to fuck you hard and treat you like shit as you asked me to. I really like you and, in my book, that doesn’t go along with choking, beating and not making any efforts in making you come. At least I fucked you slow and deep, and even went down on you. That is something already, right? And yes, you taste very good. Sweet, even.
Having mentioned that before, I reckon I’m not the guy you want/need. You aim for narcissistic assholes, and I am not like that. Or not that much.
That being said, I do appreciate your friendship immensely. As you know, I feel rather lonely in this fucking cold city. You make me feel less alone. And understood. And appreciated. And respected. And horny. But we have been there already. We don’t quite match in that department. And, yet, I would fuck you again. Fucked up, I know.
And, for the thirtieth time: I am not in love with you. Yes, I do fuck you staring into your eyes. As I said before, I like you. Yet, again, I’m not in love. So, please, quit saying that to me and to the random strangers we meet in random places. God, it’s like you wanted me to be in love with you. Why? Are you in love with me? There’s a 50% chance that you actually are. Or 48.5%, if you wanna be more precise.
I do enjoy a lot spending time with you. Our friendship is weird, but unique. I don’t fit in your life, and you shouldn’t fit in mine. Still, we do. Somehow. And that’s great. I am thankful for having met you. It’s been quite a ride so far.
At last, I hope you are enjoying the bar I just left you in. Or your place, if you decided to go back there. Alone or not. I don’t care. You are a strong, independent woman and you can do whatever the fuck you want. I am glad that, today, part of that was me.

Love,
Eduardo.

20-08-2016. 01:32am.

PS: I’d love to use the picture we took of us today, for this post. But I won’t. Using your real name is more than enough.