Dear Plastic,

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?

You are incomparably convenient, and perhaps that was what brought on the beginning of our downfall. I used you to the point of abuse, tossing you aside when I was done without a second thought, so easily forgotten.

Too often you ended up trashed instead of carefully cleaned and reused as you so deserve. I started to question my dependency on you, my need to use you just to get through the day. It became obvious how unhealthy our relationship was.

As my eyes cleared from the haze of infatuation, I saw how those qualities I once thought to be your best attributes were the fuel for so much pain and toxicity in my life and in the lives of those around us.

You are much too flexible for your own good. I hold myself solely to blame for your low self worth, leading you to say ‘yes’ to anyone who wants a piece of you. That little tie holding a new pair of scissors tight to it’s cardboard backing, the film wrapped around the cap of a juice bottle, boxes filled with leftovers to take home. Can’t you see that they’re just using you?

I have pushed you into selling yourself short, using your light weight to lull a plethora of business owners into a coma of ecstasy over the promise of reduced shipping costs, abandoning their old and faithful packaging friends, paper, glass and metal.

It’s this same light weight quality that tempted the ever flirtatious wind to your side. Did you think I was blind to how you two would playfully frolic, until she dropped you, exhausted, onto the beach or tangled in a tree? You deserve so much better.

I hope you find it in your heart to accept my sincerest apology. Please forgive me when I pass you by in the grocery store and reach for new products packaged without you. Please understand my choice to carry cloth bags and glass lunch boxes. I truly believe this will be best for both of us.

=)
Genevieve