Divorce Letter

My Dearest Almost Love,

This is my divorce letter. What kind of love is meaningless, fleeting, just a hormonal mix, that I no longer love You at all? In this divorce letter, I will present to You all the reasons why, although we are perfect for each other, we would be unbearably, overwhelmingly unhappy together. I feel too much for You for us to stay friends like before. But for You, I’ll try, and perhaps You will let us both live in this suspension, maybe suffering just a little less? I know nothing, except that even You will never satisfy me.

Reason One: You are perfect. You always wear a mask, tailored so carefully that no one, not even I, can remove it. I don’t take off my mask around You either. Because You would be terrified if You saw the real me. Around You, I hesitate at every word, while You talk so much. At the same time, You almost never say anything unconsidered. You are calculated, playing a game. We are both psychopaths, You know how this will end? Tragically.

Reason Two: You are not real. Although You have a body and blood flowing through Your veins, You are painfully artificial. You are a calculated, measured, perfectly crafted Future Husband, perfect in every way—but will this medicine not poison me?

Reason Three: When I’m with You, You talk, and I remain silent. I only give You the part of my personality that fits Your perfect image. We are both scripted and fake, but we would hate each other if we removed our disguises. Wouldn’t it be better for us to part amicably?

Reason Four: You are indecisive. You want to imprison me. You’re looking for a woman who is well-educated, who graduates from the best schools, who quickly rises through her career—only to give it all up for You, for Your calculated, completely artificial love. You don’t know how to love, but You know how You should. You only pretend, though You do it almost perfectly. Even when You pretend to be shy, even when You wait for my answer, asking if Your feelings don’t frighten me. You ask not because it’s on Your heart, but to humanize the carefully crafted version of Yourself.

Reason Five: For the sake of art. You haven’t truly gotten to know me, as Kafka said, because You’ve never truly read me. And I’ve neglected myself terribly for You. I’m learning Your language for You, I’ve put aside my writing and books. There’s a canvas in my bedroom, still white. I used to love painting pictures. In my studio, among the materials, no sketches are scattered anymore. It will only get worse if we marry.

Reason Six: You lie. You lie, even though You know I hate it. You lie, and You will never change that. It’s who You are, and I lie to You too.

Reason Seven: If we are meant for each other, You will change my mind about love. Please, convince me, show me that it’s different. I want to be wrong, I want You not to be the director of Your own persona. But I also direct myself, which is why I cannot agree to this. This role is already taken. I will not give it to You.

I want to love You properly, as a friend does, not a lover. I don’t want to crush You with my jealousy. I don’t want to fall under Your limitations; I don’t want to be Your bird in a gilded cage. I want us to love each other platonically forever, until the last days of this Earth, until the last grains of sand touched by the oceans.

Your platonically loving, 

Roni