Read this, you know who you are.

[ms.read]

Dear mr. A.

When we first started working together, I thought you were an ass, prick , selfish, narcassistic with an ego the size of my breasts. That said, we had a talk. A long talk. I understand you a little better. I realize that you care for people, but you express it on a different level. You intrigue me.

Needless to say, we became something of a kind of friends. I feel awkward around you for a number of reasons. I don't hate you, but I understand the other worker's hate of you. I like you, and feelings have developed where my heart desires to heal your wounds ( a fault of mine, the healing. Not the wounds) I want to take away your bitterness. Something I will never be able to do. My body wants to meld with yours on a level so intimate, it makes me blush just brushing the surface of those thoughts.

On another note, you have invaded my senses, my psyche, and have made a tangled knot of my emotions. STOP IT. Get out of my head, stop inturrupting my dreams. Stop inspiring me to write erotica that would make a porn actor blush.

Stop making me jealous when you flirt with the other ladies. Work with me. Stop giving me butterflies.

Have a coffee with me. Tell me more about yourself.

Yes, work sucks more than ever, but you shouldn't be the only reason why I show up.

love, ms.read

 

[ms.read]

Dear. Mr. A.

The reason I wrote that first letter... Well I just had to get it out of my system and let you know. But you won't know the truth of the matter because I did not send that letter to you.

Maybe sometime in the future I will. For now, I will just have to deal with these raw feelings. I'll see you at work. BTW thank you for listening to me. I did not dream of you last night.

~ms.read

 

[jomar]

Atta girl. Keep holding out and the fog shall lift.

 

[ms.read]

Dear A~,

You probably don't want to hear this, from a young woman like me. When I first met you, I thought you were stern, uncompromising, and an arrogant prick. As time went on, I've observed you in your element. You are kind, detail-oriented, and you put all of your energy and concentration into what you do.

You like to laugh, learn, and have a zest for the outdoor life. Yet there is a certain bitterness that colors your attitude. Broken relationships will do that to a person. I am sorry for your loss, but that doesn't mean you should give up.

You never know when it will happen. It hits you like a lightning bolt. You never expect it, not this far out in left field. It defies description. Your heart is pounding, your palms are sweating. Wait a minute, you're not a teenager any more?! Still those giddy feelings persist whenever you're around this person.

In the time that I've known you, I am glad to have been able to call you friend. You have given me insight to the mature, careful person you are.

I can't go on like this anymore. It's almost painful to be like this. I wish I could comfort you with more than just words. I wish I could take all that pain away. I want to be the one that puts that twinkle in your eye. I want to be the one you come home to at night.

There, I've said too much. But it's true. So true. If you read this, you would think of me only as a person who has gone soft in the head, I think. But as one person said, life goes on.

Love,

Me

****************************************************************

I fold up the paper shove it into an envelope. Sealing the envelope with the lick of my tongue, I throw it into a cardboard box, never to be seen by the light of day ever again.

I took your advice finally. The pain is ripping me in half. I don't miss what the man has become, I miss what we had together. Love, beautiful as it was, did not last. Soon enough, it or he, I don't know which, has become too much of a burden. I coast along. I think he knows. I am just waiting now. I am waiting for my life to pull together. I am waiting for fate to tell me what to do next.

At work, I feel as though my employment is hanging by a thread. Either I will lose my sanity, for a number of reasons, or I will be given the pink slip. Also, for a number of reasons.

I need to call someone, talk to someone. It's like I'm suffocating. You know, I tell myself that I am happy, but I'm not.

I think about that letter stuffed in a cardboard box. The fantasy that surrounds it. I have built a world around this one person. Or, I should say, my ideal of this person. Truth is, I don't know him all that well.

I think about him. I feel bad because I don't want to end this relationship. There is a comfort in it I suppose. The routine. But the bed has gone cold. I sleep by myself. When I think about sex, it is not with him. And I feel guilty for it. He tries hard but, I'm sorry to say it but, he doesn't arouse me anymore. And I feel guilty for that, too. I think he was right, it was a crush. The heady idea of freedom of the oppression I was feeling at home. I think I used him. I think I broke his heart. That, most of all, I feel the guiltiest.

I am not ready to leave. I am getting there. I need to. I need to be on my own. I need to be able to breathe. But, I think once I get there, I will be more lonelier than I am now. And I won't even have anyone to curl up next to.

 

[ms.read]

Karma?!

You know I had a dream this morning about you. We were at work But for some reason the layout was different? anyway I guess it was a partial memory too. I guess i got some hazardous material on my scrub pants so I took them off and threw them in the washer (<---this is at work now.--->) So im in my scrub top and my underwear, which for some reason I'm wearing a pad too. (well i am having my period)

So any way I'm working in the kitchen getting it all cleaned up from supper, all the residents have gone to bed. I hear the door slam down at the end of the hall. I take a peek out the kitchen doorway to see who it is. Wiping my hands on a dishtowel, I see it is you with your blue-green scrubs, and keys bouncing in tune with your stride. Still without pants, I am totally unselfconsious and just walk into the hallway and make small talk with you.

You walk into the living room and sit down on the couch, you ask how my night is going and i say well.

I don't remember how we got to talking about your cell phone, but you have one of those fancy ones with a camera in it. You ask me if I would like to see some of the pic's you have taken of me.

Curious,I say yes and sit down with a foot underneath me and I am leaning on your shoulder as you press the buttons on the phone to show me the pics. I readjust to get more comfortable. I am amazed and the sudden physical contact that we have. I wonder if you are in comfortable (in real life i would be)

It starts out as a still frame but it turns into a movie. There i am on the screen with no pants on. It lasts about thirty seconds. Im walking around between the kitchen and the living room at work. I blush and ask you how many more pics you have of me. oh, a few you reply. then you press more buttons.

Now as I am sitting right next to you, kind of looking over your shoulder at the screen, you gently put your hand atop mine. My focus is on your hand due to my phobia and the close context. I study it a moment thrilling in your (first?) willing touch of me.

Then I wake up.


Then I go to work tonight, and you have called out. Your excuse is that you really burned your hand. Karma right?

 

[Carnevil9]

No need to be coy. If you think I am a prick, just say so! You won't be the first one.....Carney (yes, it is always about me, me, me, glorious me)

 

[ms.read]

No need to be coy. If you think I am a prick, just say so! You won't be the first one.....Carney (yes, it is always about me, me, me, glorious me)

Edited on 9 22 07 sorry carney.... my bitchy side was showing the evening that i wrote the previous reply...

 

[ms.read]

Dear A~,

Troublesome- that is what you are. Your hand has finally healed up. I want to sincerely thank you for bringing us girls home most nights. Not having a car has put me in a vulnerable spot. We [us girls] all have are reasons for not having a car but mine is most depressing.

You showed me your old house with some background info on it. God, when im around you why do i have to have that giddy feeling all the time. My cynical self is throwing up at the thought of being that giddy.

You've given me more than enough inspiration to write a novel or Novella... Now its just time for me to put it into words on paper so to speak.

 

[ms.read]

Dear A~,

You know what you really are a prick that likes to fuck around with peoples minds.

No, I don't feel guilty any more. And I am still with my fiance. I love him. It's just taken me awhile to realize that. he's much better than you are too. He's sweet and funny, and he loves me. As if you ever could love anything that isn't a dog.


FUCK OFF!