You have won. You have vanguished me. You have subdued and conquered, my beloved. My angel, my queen.
I totally throw in the towel. I am despondent and frustrated without you. I am rudderless and clueless. I am confused. I am nothing.
Baby, let me open my heart to you, unashamedly. Publicly. I just can’t stand your cold treatment any more. You not talking to me, or even commenting on my threads. Not even a single like, mamie? What did I ever do?
And to make matters worse, you flirt shamelessly with that imbecilic nincompoop Alger-bullshit. Why now? Why give soft words of comfort to others when I suffer so much and yet hear nothing from you? Do you have to stick in the knife so deep? Wasn’t it I, boo, who told the twat off when he insulted you? Wasn’t I who rode up like a knight to save you, single-handedly, from the hordes of the north?
Pray, what do I have to say or do to convince you of my admiration? Of my loyalty and veracity? Of my love?
They say that when you love somebody, let them go. If they love you, they’ll come back. Well, I won’t let you go. I will chase you to the ends of the earth my love. I will beg. I will plead. I will grovel. I will entreat and cry. I will die.
But I won’t give you up. So, please, PLEASE, don’t be dead to me.
Find it, in your beautiful, gracious and warm heart, a little place for me.
Just a little place for me to call home before I cross the sea to the other side, hopefully not so soon.
Yours, always,
Guka.
