For an incredibly long time, the duration of my life actually, I have loved to create. This love has lived in juxtaposition with a tenacious aspiration to perfection.
Even as I reread that last sentence I find myself paralysed, agonizing over the placement of each word. Does is run smoothly? Could I find a better word for aspiration? And my recording of what started out as a clear train of thought comes to a crashing halt, cabooses colliding forward in a jumbled accordion zigzag as the engine stutters and runs out of steam.
I am writing to inform you that I am leaving you.
I know this may seem callous, and even cowardly, ending our relationship through a letter after a lifetime together, but I fear a loss of resolve if I try to do this face to face. I imagine you saw this coming for a while now, perhaps you already knew when I brought that metal water bottle home.
You have many good qualities. I kept telling myself that things weren’t all that bad. You’re light weight, discreet, compactable, versatile, incredibly flexible to the point that you can be moulded into just about any form. What else could a woman ask for?