Letters to Maria Coryaté: Part II.

[postmark: January 15th, 2015]



So, I’ve written more girls love-emails than I’ve actually loved, so I expect these letters will be pretty good.  My grandmother saved hers in a green shoebox tied-up with string in her closet.

I’ll leave the flattery at this, Maria, you’re like no girl I’ve ever met.  But if you’re unconvinced of your uniqueness, let me prove it to you.  Every-girl is not unique.  Every-girl is not battling post-traumatic stress (like how I left out the disorder part?).  Even if you wished those things never had happened to you, they’re part of who you are, now— and that makes you unique.  But, I gotta tell you, Maria, you were pretty flickin’ special long before that.

Remember when Toddy brought his new pet to the Insitut town-hall meeting?  Haha, that thing must-a been slithering around for ten minutes, before Toddy stands up and goes, “Rabelais is gone—  Rabelais is missing.”  And the post-menstrual woman next to you lets out this shriek, but you just dive on it and snatch that critter by its slimy, yellow leg.  I asked you about it, afterwards, you remember what you said?  You said, “gross in a good way.”

You’re far too pretty for your own good, you know that, right?  I bet as long as you’ve been dating, people have been falling tediously in love with you—  Maria, you’re so beautiful; Maria, why don’t you love me—  smothering you with affection.  I get that, babe, totally.  We both have trouble when people get too close to us.






more from Letters to Maria Coryaté



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