Dear “Saw,”
This letter has been a long time coming. I just didn’t know how to put my feelings into words. But now I can say it: We’re through. Forgive my blunt words, “Saw,” but we’re breaking up for good. And not to make you feel bad or anything, but it’s not me. It’s you.
I guess you’re probably thinking that if I really understood you I’d have tarted up my words for you somehow and left you a cryptic note where I half-explained my unhappiness. Then I would have stuck that note inside an envelope that was also holding a key to a box. And that box would have been buried under a pit of deadly radioactive scorpions. That box would have contained your left lung, which I would have removed while you were under sedation. And I would have also filled your right lung with cherry-flavored Kool-Aid while simultaneously attaching a model train set to your skull. And then I would have outfitted the engine with little tiny rocket launchers that would set your entire face on fire. And you would have had 10 seconds to decide if knowing my true feelings were more important than having nuclear scorpions gnawing on you or having your nose melted off. I guess that would have been more archly poetic.
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