All of the truly eloquent words have been taken. There is nothing new under the sun. Different pen, different lover, different handwriting even, but nothing is ever new. Always used. This pen was used to write letters to another- this script used to impress not just You:
A lover, always a hand-me-down; passed from woman to woman, and maybe its your fate to be, too. Used and beaten and yanked around on a string.
I will never understand how you can put up with such a creature. How you can love such a devil.
But I know she does something to you. I know she ignites your desire; your lust. How she teases and tempts; submits and makes you feel like a man.
But its only a feeling. A feeling which will quickly fade.
When you're older, but never wiser, and her hips are destroyed from her dancing days, and she can no longer please you (what good is she without that?), you'll wish you had traded your childish wants for better things.
You made a mistake thinking she could make you happier now, than I ever could have in the future.
You are pathetic.
