Chapter Text
Dear Friend,
I’ve never done this before. Have you?
Wait, I don’t like that introduction. But I can’t edit it, can I? That’s the whole point of a letter: stream-of-conscious, spill your guts. Unfortunately, guts are messy. I suppose you’d never know if I shred this letter or set it aflame, if I started again and wrote you a poem instead. I’d have to learn how to write a poem first. And, I’d already be lying to you. It feels especially wrong to lie in a letter, like you’re disrespecting the medium. Great confessions have been made in letters.
This is why editing’s important. My friend says I edit my movies too much, that I lose the story’s honesty when I think too much about what it should be. My therapist says I do the same with my life. She thinks I try to control everything, cutting and shifting pieces until I lose myself to whatever narrative I’ve written. She’s a good therapist, but she occasionally gets lost in metaphors. I can relate.
Do you like movies, dear friend? What’s your favourite? I hope it’s a love story.
Sincerely,
Art Vandelay
---
Dear Stranger,
Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.
If you’re playing a prank, just don’t. I have no sense of humour. If you’re a boy pretending to like boys because you think that’s fucking hilarious, you’re an asshole and I hope you get hit by a bus. Moving on.
If you’re planning to murder me, at least do it in an interesting way. I want to be remembered and I have not done anything remarkable.
If you think we could actually fall in love, you’re more optimistic than I am. My idiot friends are on me because apparently I’m not “open to love,” whatever the fuck that means. So this is me, putting myself out there using the least effective dating service possible. Seriously, letter writing in 2017? I saw the ads on Google, so clearly they know what the internet is. Please tell me you’re not one of those guys who thinks cell phones make it impossible to form real connections. I’d rather you murder me.
My favourite movie is National Treasure. One of the great love stories of our time: Nicolas Cage and the Declaration of Independence.
Bye,
Ben Gates
PS: If we can't edit our letters, I guess I have to put this here. I like Seinfeld too, Art.