Fan mail

Dear Wilfred,

I might be in love, but let me explain.

I recently attended an improv show where you did stand-up comedy. You don’t know me, because I did not feel compelled to talk to you after the show. I thought it was mediocre at best, but that doesn’t bother me – I’m not one for laughing.

I consider myself to be an artist in the making; I, too, write. My days consist of long periods, sitting in silence and reflecting upon the human experience. Considering that I find such extensive loneliness necessary to strive as an artist, I have found it hard to sustain a relationship in my life.

But, I think that you and I could have a very successful romance. As I’ve said, for the sake of my art, I need space. And you, I think, could be someone whom I could easily pretend is not there. The relationship would probably work as follows: you think of me as your reason for living, and every so often, I’ll consider you to be someone else in the room.

Think about it, because I can’t stop thinking about your weightless frame sleeping in the next room.

Sincerely,
M.E.


On another note: