Dear You,

I saw you yesterday. If only I hadn't. If only you hadn't been late for work. If only I hadn't stopped for a peppermint mocha. Then I could have kept on believing in fairy tales. I could have kept on believing that you were away traveling or getting well or finding yourself, but planning on one day, at some time, coming for me, coming back to me. I could have kept on believing that the silence from you would be broken, that it didn't mean what it so obviously did. But I saw you.
There you were, just as you always have been. There you were, not away, not coming for me. I saw you. I saw someone who had managed to get rid of something he didn't want, like an outdated cellphone or a bit of trash. It's a plot twist I had foreseen and been so afraid of, but when it was actually happening I managed to plop myself down into a different story, a happier gentler one, and pretended it was ours. But there's no avoiding the real story now. At least I know how it ends.


Sincerely,
PC

Dear I Wanted To Be Wise And Loving,

I'm sorry. I failed you miserably. You deserved better but I panicked and made a terrible mess. Though in my defense I Wanted To Be Wise And Loving, you didn't give me a chance. You held me at arm's length. I was capable of so much more.

Sincerely,
PC

Dear Heartsick,

I've come to know your cousin, Heartbreak, quite well over the years. When he shows up now I know exactly what to expect, how to handle him, and, like an unwanted houseguest, how to finally, mercifully, bid him adieu.
But you, Heartsick.
You're a different animal.
There's a deeper, darker element to you. A knife-in-the-gut wrenching. You're born from rejection, of course. But you require coldness and betrayal to fully take root. Then you feed off secrets and lies, misunderstandings and judgments.
But how you really flourish, Heartsick, or rather metastasize, is when the love that has been offered is belittled and dismissed. When with shrugged shoulders it is declared just an idea and you'll be fine. After all this. After all that. That is when your branches block out the last glimpse of light. That is when you do your worst, Heartsick. Leaving pulp and bones and tears. So job well done. Now please let me be.

Sincerely,
PC

Dear Hollywood Actresses (Actors too but mostly Actresses)

It's awards season and like every year I'm enjoying the celebration of that art form I love very much - movies. And, like every year, I have had my disappointment, my moment of being shocked by an actress's appearance and the realization that another one has caved. I'm talking about plastic surgery - the procedures you are willingly subjecting yourselves to in order to look less like yourselves.
I'm not judging but I am imploring - please stop butchering yourselves. It is seldom worth it and chances are you will end up looking worse. I won't name names because that would be cruel. Feelings of inadequacy led you to the scalpel, why contribute to that? But when I see Helen Mirren and Sally Field still looking like Helen Mirren and Sally Field, I applaud them. They are older and they look older. They also look real and vibrant and beautiful.
But I get it. I can only imagine the pressures you face. Unkind comments in the press. Perhaps a cruel remark from a producer. Blogs, Twitter, Facebook. So many ways for anyone in the world to point out that you are aging. I can guess what leads you to the decision. But human beings are ridiculous jerks. Why hack away at yourselves to please them? They don't deserve it.
So may I suggest a new role for you? It could be the role of a lifetime: the actress who grows old naturally and gracefully. Not everyone will appreciate the performance but trust me, enough of them will.

Sincerely,
PC

Dear Sometimes,

You are so two-faced. The purveyor of hope but also despair. Because Sometimes it's all in your head and everything is fine. But Sometimes they really are plotting behind your back, talking and laughing about you. Sometimes you ride off into the sunset and get your happy ending. Sometimes you tell the person you love something painful about yourself, hoping it will bring you closer, but they accuse you of making it up. Sometimes the sun shines, the birds sing and all is well in the world. Sometimes a guy walks into a school and shoots a lot of little children.
Just to clarify Sometimes, this is not a love letter.

Sincerely,
PC

Dear Why,

You're not a rhetorical question. We want an answer.


Sincerely,
PC

Dear Santa,

For Christmas I would like:

1. A pony

2. Donald Trump's head on a platter. Taking extra special care with the hair, of course. But if the Donald is considered too indispensable for Republican imbeciles or late night comedians, then I would gladly accept the heads of George W Bush, Rush Limbaugh, or Karl Rove instead. I'm easygoing, Santa.

3. Honey Boo Boo placed with an Amish family for a year or two. I'm thinking the severe culture shock will help to balance the poor little thing out and give her a shot at a better life. And imagine all those sad tabloid stories the world would be spared from reading, Santa. I believe that is called humanitarianism.

4. Justin Trudeau to win the Liberal leadership and become the next Prime Minister of Canada. This one I'm begging you for, Santa. Stephen Harper has been very very naughty. For the sake of little Canadian boys and girls everywhere Santa! Justin has the hair, I mean the heart to make this country great again. Please Santa!

5. Peace in the Middle East. Or radio stations to stop playing that damn Woop it Gangnam Style song. Whichever is easier. I know you're busy, Santa.

6. Michael Fassbender or Leonardo DiCaprio. Or both if I'm very naughty, I mean very good.

We'll that's it. Thanks Santa!


Sincerely,
PC