I love you, my dear, but only a little. Oh yes, there was a time when I loved you with all my being. I first saw you exiting a Curves as I sat in the parking lot eating a Quiznos sub. Out of curiosity, I followed you, and I fell in love somewhere between your trip to the doctor’s office and when you bought groceries at Whole Foods. I was addicted, and I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t get enough of you.
My days were spent watching you from afar and filling notebook after notebook with the minute details of your radiant beauty and keeping a comprehensive log of everything you said, did, and wore. You exuded beauty in everything you did; going to Panera Bread on your lunch hour last Tuesday, getting your car washed on Wednesday, and the dentist appointment on Thursday. I loved every minute of it. I eventually couldn’t contain myself any longer and I knew what I had to do. While you were at the dentist, I noticed you left your car windows slightly open. I made good use of this opportunity, and broke into your vehicle. I sat in the drivers seat and closed my eyes as I realized I was sitting where your plump bottom had been only minutes before. I opened the glove compartment and noticed you have a rather large collection of CDs. How nostalgic you are. I don’t much like Beyonce, but for you I will.
The next morning, after you had left for work, I broke into your home and took some of your dirty towels. You may call this stealing, and I admit it was bold of me, but what it really was was an act of passion. I covered my tracks and made my presence unknown. With the towels bunched underneath my arms, I raced back to my car. I pressed my face into those towels and breathed in your scent. My heart, and another body part, began throbbing uncontrollably. This was perhaps the happiest time of my life, watching you in secret. You were mine and mine only.
Until Friday night came. As I was outside your house planning our future together (we would live in my mother’s basement, take bird watching excursions every odd-numbered month, and own three cats) a strange man came to your door at 8PM. You greeted him at the door and gave him a long, passionate kiss. Then he disappeared inside. My heart shattered into a million pieces, but my love for you remained as solid as ever. Over the next few weeks, I continued to watch you, but I sulked in the fact that you had someone else. While you were ordering some turkey at the Sunrise Deli, I had the perfect idea. I would kill your boyfriend, and then we could be together, finally, forever.
I didn’t know much about murder and I especially hadn’t had much experience. I’ve never been good at confronting people, and in a way, murdering someone is about as confrontational as you could get. Maybe strangling would work. I would sneak up from behind, and clench his throat...but, no, that wouldn’t work. My hands are much too delicate. Poison, yes, poison was the answer. As I was browsing Rite-Aid for some nice poison, I saw you in line at the checkout. You had a box of chocolates. Yes, it was Valentine’s Day. Surely your boyfriend would be over that night. It was now or never. I had to strike tonight.
I asked one of the saleswomen at Rite-Aid where they kept the poison, and I realized I had made a mistake. She thought I was joking but I still pulled out some chloroform and made sure she was out. I dragged her body behind a large shelf of shampoo and left Rite-Aid with a rather fluid plan on how to eliminate your boyfriend. I would simply chloroform him, stuff him in my car, and worry about the rest later.
Obviously, you know what happened next, my darling. As I was in the bushes outside your bedroom window, I saw you on your bed constantly checking your phone and watch. Finally, you made a phone call. Your tone led me to believe that you were angry and I assumed you had been talking to your boyfriend. There was lots of crying and screaming as I’m sure you remember. What you didn’t know was that while you were crying tears of pain, I was crying tears of joy. It was over with him and you would be mine soon enough. As the branches tickled my back I decided I would profess my love to you. You needed me, and God knows I needed you. I was about to knock on your window and give you my winning smile when you began disrobing for a shower. Perhaps I would wait before making my presence known.
After you wrapped a towel around your freshly showered bosom, I decided to wait until tomorrow to reveal my love to you. You had been through a lot that day, and to be honest I was a bit nervous. While I had been watching you for all these weeks, it had never occurred to me what it might be like to actually talk to you for the first time and make my feelings known. My crippling shyness prevented me from confronting you. I knew I would better articulate myself through writing, so I decided to leave you a note.
On a beautiful floral card I wrote, “I’ve been watching you. I love you.” Its conciseness was eloquent, and I knew you would be moved to tears. I also included a painting I had done of the two of us in the throes of passion. I put the note and the painting in a nice, green box and placed a bow on top. After you had left for work, I left the package on your doorstep and waited with delightful anticipation for you to return home.
You arrived home earlier than usual, and sure enough you saw the box. You looked surprised and you snatched it up before opening the door. I scurried from my car to the bushes so that I could watch you as you opened it. I had a great view of your kitchen and I saw you as you grabbed a pair of scissors and opened the box. You plucked up the card and admired the beautiful floral image on the front. You opened it and...well, here I admit that my expectations were very wrong. Your brow lowered and the smile fell off your face. You looked around as if someone might be behind you. I wanted to call out “I’m over here, my love, in the bushes!” but the timing did not seem right. Then, you saw there was something else in the box. As you unrolled the beautiful painting I had done of us, you gasped in horror and dropped it on the ground as you began screaming. I was offended. I'm a wonderful artist and my work certainly should not have elicited such a reaction.
You grabbed the phone and I heard you say “Hello, police? I need help, I think someone is watching me!”
Now, I must say I was hurt. First you do not like my painting and then you go so far as to call the police? If I weren’t so in love with you, this would have been a problem. I knew that once you got to know me, we could sort all this out and lie back happily on the foldout bed in mother’s basement. Our happy ending awaited us, but you were being stubborn.
I don’t much care for the authorities, so after you phoned the police and frantically locked all your doors and windows, I fled and decided it would be best if I didn’t see you that night. You needed some time to cool off.
The next day I drove by your house and I saw a locksmith van outside. You had taken off from work and were having your locks changed. I really couldn’t believe how much you mistrusted me. I wasn’t some monster. Yes, yes, I had broken into your home the previous week, but that was no need to go and have your locks changed. Talk about overreacting. Obviously, you were having trouble accepting our new relationship. I decided to chalk it up to fear of commitment on your part. You had just gotten out of a long-term relationship and needed some time to heal. I understood. I’m a caring, sensitive person.
After giving you an entire day to heal, I decided it was finally time for us to be together. I would knock on your door, profess my love to you, and everything would be fine.
As I drove past, I saw several cop cars outside your home. Seriously? You were still having commitment issues? I had given you plenty of time and enough was enough. You would be mine soon enough, you just needed some convincing.
I decided the best way to go about this would be to forcibly enter your home, take you into my arms, and have a nice long talk with you. The only problem was all these cop cars around. It was 9PM on a Saturday night and I called, anonymously, and reported a robbery a few blocks down from your home. Sure enough, seconds later, the cop cars stationed outside your house were off to the “robbery.” I was wearing all black, as not to be seen, and covered my face with a ski mask. Black had always been slimming on me and I knew you’d agree that the ski mask really brought out the color in my eyes. I grabbed the flowers I had picked for you and made my way towards your back door. I knew it would be easy to get in. All I had to do was break the glass and then reach in and turn the knob. I knew my delicate hands would not be able to penetrate the glass, so I threw the heaviest brick I could find. I’m no athlete, and the brick I threw landed two feet in front of the door. I think you heard it because you looked startled. I grabbed another brick and moved closer. This one got the job done and the shock understandably made you scream loudly. As I emerged from the darkness to come through the door, you ran into your bedroom and locked the door. I raced inside and heard you crying.
“It’s ok now, I’m here. We can be together!”
For some reason this only made you cry louder. Maybe you were confused.
I clarified, “It’s me, from the note. I was the one who made you the painting!”
“Get out! I’m calling the police you fucking psycho!” you screamed.
Fucking psycho? Me? Darling, I wasn’t the one screaming and making a big scene out of nothing.
I made the mistake of trying to lure you out of the room rather than leaving. I knew this was my last chance, and I didn’t want to blow it.
The police arrived as I was halfway through reading the sonnet I had written for you. Once again, you weren’t grateful for the beautiful words I had written for you.
A large, burly policeman tackled me to the ground and slapped a pair of handcuffs on me, and the rest is self-explanatory.
I am writing you this from prison. I hope this letter will help explain my actions, as you had seemed rather confused. I have been here a month now, and I figured you have had a decent amount of time to think about us, and our relationship. As I said, I still love you, but my passion does not burn as brightly as it did that day outside the Curves as I watched you towel the sweat off your forehead. When I get out, I hope we can still be together, but I need you to promise me that you’ll work on your commitment issues. Our relationship will have a very bumpy path if you continue to act the way you did that night I came and visited. I love you, my dear, but I need you to know that there’s no future for us if you continue to be such an over sensitive drama queen.
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