To Whom It May Concern

To whom it may concern:

This is a letter to my significant other, unless you are highly acute, I will refrain from calling you by your birth name because you are no different than the rest of the vile residing on Earth.

Feelings you once thought were reserved for you are now extinct. I find trouble using the word extinct because something must be alive for it to die. I may now inform you that words of praise and care spoken in your name were covered in lust, therefore ceasing their validity. I refrained from telling you this in hope that this sudden revelation would render you stiff and stupid.

Our experiences together were nothing more than a façade that I had endured to reach every man's goal of fornication. I only stuck around so I could achieve this on a consistent basis. If you are unaware of this approach, you have sadly mistaken the male race for something noble.

When you spoke, and your ego was at its highest point, I entered a state of sheer anger and regret. When you were silent, my world was in perfect symmetry as you choked on a hypothetical gag ball that kept your primitive intellect internal.

An intelligent man once said, “If you love someone, set them free, if they come back home, set them on fire.” But it's time the human race questions the legitimacy of a statement that is thrown around more times than synthetic compliments at a bridal shower. Love is an emotion. All emotions are transient. Some days you're up. Some days you're down. Keeping this into consideration, love as we currently envision it, doesn't exist.

This letter is not to inform you of mankind's intentions, rather, to kill any hope you have for the future.