i write this letter, a heartbroken woman.
you see, i’ve come to a realization. a rather solemn and depressing one i’m finding, that it’s not me Black, it’s you. when we started this unexpected relationship, we were perfect. you were so much of what i wanted: smart, worldly, good looking, nice package, and we got along famously, you and i. i knew exactly what buttons to push and which not, to get what i wanted. you always made sure i was always happy. and i appreciated you in ways no one before you has ever seen, Black. i took care of you. like new Love usually is, we were inseparable. like a doting wife i always made sure you had enough energy, even bought you fresh gear a time or two, cleaned after you, everything.
and as i look at your blank stare i now realize that it was all for naught. you didn’t appreciate me the way you were supposed to. i told you all my secrets, gave page after page to your memory for you to hold dear. you knew my family, and all the secrets my friends made me promise to never share. even sent sexy pics sometimes just to make you smile, since you seem to like Curves.