Love Letters Gone Wrong – Twelve
It’s time time for another round of LOVE LETTERS GONE WRONG! Every Friday I feature a LOVE LETTER GONE WRONG submitted by an anonymous blogger. Sunday morning I reveal the secret admirer’s identity with a link to the blogger’s home page. If you’d like to submit some truly heinous love letters please send them to firstname.lastname@example.org.
This week’s love letter was written by a blogger who is new to my site . Check out the blogs below and then return to the comments here to guess who the secret admirer is. The first correct guess wins a free copy of my ebook.
Dear “Has been known to take it from behind,”
It seems like forever since I read any of your posts, besides that first one I read so that I could post something in my comment that showed I actually took an interest in your work. It seems like there’s an entire internet between us and even though I’ve never seen your face I’m sure it’s tastefully… applied. I sometimes imagine you as the bits of worn scrap metal at glass beach just jagged enough to tear, waiting for some idiot to take his shoes off, that idiot was me. I hopped all the way back to my rental car. It sucked. Look, this only kind of relates to my undying and universe exploding slash shattering affection for your incredibly sexy literary prowess in bed, I mean in blog… blog form. Wait, you also wrote a book? What? Anyways, I think we should “hook up” because we could be awesome together and I have an immensely prodigious lexicon, if you know what I mean. I can also use reference sites like thesaurus.com if you find that sort of thing hot, thermogenic even. I don’t know how much more convincing I have to be, I’m pretty sure I nailed it in the first three run on sentences.
So you’ll call me on Friday right? Rhetorical question. The answer is yes, you will. Not only because I’m such a fine candidate but also because I will write you unbelievably romantic love poems (I know you love that shit). This one’s for you baby. When I think of you it hurts only half as much as when you comment on my blog like your words are a hailstorm on my heart and the innuendo is an instant in a silent room and all I want to do is scream so that you might stifle me with a kiss but I know there’s nothing in this that won’t leave me listless and lonely and I know you don’t really know me, but I know me, but I don’t know me like that and it’s that doubt that’s done me in, kept me from calling you at all (I have your phone number, don’t freak out, you’re neighbor Jim gave it to me while I was outside your house, back to the totally bitching poem I’m writing off the top of my head). I’ve left it alone and it’s festering into gargoyle stone suspended from the edges of my shoulders watching intently and ever presently ready to rip my flesh out to remind me why I need this protection. Golem wings can sing goosebump hums across my skin but your hands could settle them if you ever got close enough. End poem.
Sincerely, I’m not telling you my name so you can get a restraining order.