Dear jblueiam,

The trouble is, you think you could never see enough, but you could. And you would. I’d let you into my life believing that our days would be one photo of fluids coming out of my body after another. I’d think to myself, well fucking phew, finally! Now I can spend all my time photographing fluids coming out of my body. I’d relax and finally tear down the walls that fear of never finding true love have kept up for so long.

But, one day, jblueiam, I’d be showing you a series of beautiful squirting photos, tasteful, of course. Or maybe a photo of me snotting, but dressed up like one of those Anne Geddes babies in a pea pod or something, and you’d sigh. And I’d hear that sigh and I would know what it meant. You’d play it off at first, because even you wouldn’t want to believe it. But, we’d both know the truth.

And over the following weeks, every time you heard me hammering a nail into the wall to hang yet another photo in the hallway, the chckchckchk of the tiny hammer I use because I think it’s cute would pull your thoughts closer to the front of your mind. You’d try to stick it out, wait for the nagging distaste for photos of me pissing in the midst of some Ansel Adams inspired black and white over-saturated landscape, the growing disinterest in the candid shots of me spitting on hobos, all of those doubts you keep having, to just go away. We live together forchrissake. It’d be a hassle. And you got me to move to Michigan to be with you. Go away, bad feelings!

I’d feel it, heavy in our home, and I would try to compensate by switching to videos of fluids coming out of my body. When that failed, I would take to showing other people my photos, sneaking around, but sneaking sloppily in hopes that you’d catch me and just feel something again, dammit.

You’re a good man, and you’d know that this was your fault. But that would change nothing. You’d never ask me to move. So, one day I’d have to make the decision myself. I’d pack in the night, burn the photos in a pile in the yard, and leave you a polaroid- your last ever photo of me with fluids coming out of my body- my tears. I loved you. I hoped this would work out. Goodbye.

This entry was posted on Thursday, August 16th, 2012 at 10:18 am and is filed under love, Online dating. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.