To Ibuki Natsuko (Rejected Rough Drafts)

Draft #1

April 14

Greetings,

I hope the zenith of cherry blossom season finds you well. I’m sure that adjusting to your new job is no easy feat, but there’s no need to fret. Knowing you, I have every faith that you will be acclimated to your new workplace and blazing new trails forward in no time at all.

I am currently in a marine biological laboratory on the Noto Peninsula, a long way from Kyoto. My supervisor is strict but caring, and each day under his tutelage I am striving diligently to mature and leave my daydreaming ways behind.

The lab is in front of Noto-Kashima Station on the Noto Railway. In the springtime one can enjoy a tunnel of cherry blossoms at the station. As I stared at the blossoming flowers while I waited for the train the other day, I was reminded of the welcome party when I joined the lab in Kyoto almost exactly one year ago. Komatsuzaki thrashed me at the Kamo River race, and as I stood there wet and shivering, you came and handed me a egg-yolk-yellow towel. I’ll never forget how soft that towel felt. Do you remember that? I was grateful for the towel, but even more so for the kindness you showed me. That day on the embankment beneath the cherry blossoms, your soft smile―softer than that egg-yolk-yellow towel―captured my heart.

In the year since that day we have gone our separate ways, but I have at last made up my mind to tell you how I feel. I never could have done this before, because I was a sniveling boy who had nothing to offer you.

But I’m no longer that same boy.

I’m whipping myself into shape and rehabilitating myself into society. To prove it, I wake up every morning at 5 and climb a mountain alongside monks. The ascent is treacherous; I must scramble over rocky crags, swing from tree branch to tree branch, and carve new paths where man has rarely trod. This arduous exercise strengthens the body as well as the mind. Not only this, I arrive at the lab before anyone else and spend the entire day immersed in research. As a result of these accumulated practices, my biceps are bulging, I have shot up several centimeters, and my research is going swimmingly. As I dash through the mountains I recite English vocabulary, so I’m able to chat with foreigners like a native. Pure soul, muscular body, communication fluency. With these three sacred treasures at my disposal, I would undoubtedly make you a happy woman.

What do you say? Take a chance on me?

A whopping 95% of my acquaintances agree that I am destined to hit the big time. According to the landmark work “How to Hit the Big Time” by Dr. Koibumi, professor of medicine and philosophy at Idaho State University, it is extremely likely that men just like me will be the ones to assume positions of power and lead Japan forward into the 21st century. Now is the time for you to experience first-hand the effects of the rebirth of Morita Ichirō. You need only leave everything to me. By my thirties, my yearly salary will have crested the 30 million yen mark; I will be living in a mansion with an enormous swimming pool; every vacation will be spent in a 5-star resort eating kinako mochi. A life of luxury and impeccably smooth skin await

The first half was well done if I do say so myself, but the second half beggared belief. I was so focused on selling myself that I ended up sounding like I was pitching something on a late night infomercial. It was such a case of misleading advertising that even Ibuki would reconsider our acquaintance, and possibly even delete my number.

I have no idea what dark corner of my mind “Dr. Koibumi, professor of medicine and philosophy at Idaho State University” sprang from. I don’t know what that character was supposed to convey. I don’t know what was going on inside my head.

The crafty hawk hides its claws. Be humble, don’t flaunt your colours. The astute Ibuki will surely be impressed by your modesty. A fine catch never boasts or brags about himself.

Draft #2

April 30

I hope this letter finds you well, as the cherry blossoms give way to fresh dewy leaves. I’m sure your first month at your job has been taxing, but knowing you, I have every faith that you will be acclimated to your new workplace and blazing a path forward in no time at all. I, on the other hand, am just a dumb, clueless grad student with no idea where he’s going to land. I’ve got a long way to go before I catch up to you. But I’m working hard every day, so that I don’t fall too far behind.

I am currently in a marine biological laboratory on the Noto Peninsula, a long way from Kyoto. My supervisor is strict but caring, and each day under his tutelage I am striving diligently to mature out of my immature student ways. Not long ago Komatsuzaki wrote and told me that you had attended a blossom viewing party in Kyoto. I regret that the Noto Peninsula is much too far away for me to have attended as well.

Komatsuzaki fell head over heels in love with one of the younger lab members at the party that day, and just between you and me, his brain has turned into mush. He’s completely incapable of hiding how smitten he is, so Ōtsuka’s wound him up into yet another one of her schemes. She’s as feckless as I remember.

Now that I’m so far from Kyoto, I’ve begun to miss those days at the lab. I still remember fondly all those times we had to share reagents, as well when you comforted me when I was huddled by the rotary evaporator after a failed experiment. You were always so good with experiments, to such an extent that it made me despair of my own failure to grasp the basics. I was so incapable in those days, so lackadaisical, so powerless.

You are incredible. Your aptitude and diligence put me to shame. I am a worthless human being, a weak-willed worm who snugly burrowed himself into grad school―not because I had any particular interest in academia, merely because I was too afraid to set sail into the open sea of society. I am nothing but a burden to the university. That I, an insignificant worm, would send such a talented, beautiful person such as you a letter is nothing less than a travesty. My worthless words are a waste of the valuable wood pulp from which this paper was printed; it accelerates global warming, it is a drag upon the stock market, it casts a pall upon the future of Japan. Oh, why was I ever born? Begone, paltry knave. In terms of my usefulness to humanity and the world I am lower than the humblest blade of grass, nay, weed, that cowers at the side of the road. How could such an execrable lifeform be allowed to fall in love with a being of light such as you? This gap was far too vast to ever overcome; I repent in dust and ashes. It is only right that I have tumbled to this remote corner of the Noto Peninsula; it would only be fit for me to strike my head on a block of frozen tofu and perish. If ever you should be walking and come across me tumbling down the road, my only wish is that you should tread upon me without a second thought and continue on your way. Please, give me a good stomp. No need to be shy, dig your heel right into my

A wholesome start, but I don’t know how the second half went so wrong.

I focused on being humble. I also worked on showing the depth of my feelings for Ibuki. The result was not a human but a sniveling toad. Death by frozen tofu is a little much even for me. Morita Ichirō is not that worthless of a human being. He’s not!

Time to get serious. You can’t brag, but you can’t be servile either. You must carry yourself with pride. Maybe restrained, cultured writing would be the best way to convey dignity?

Draft #3

May 30

Dear Madam,

Let me confess my most sincere Penitence that such an intolerable Interval has elapsed since my last Correspondence, which common Courtesy would frown upon.

It is with great Pleasure that I have received glad Tidings of your pious Labour. It has been but two Months since your Graduation, and I fear that you may find many confounding Troubles in this World. But take Heart! Your Future rests on a Bed of Rock, for as I am acquainted with your many superior Talents your Toil will certainly be rewarded, as surely as Nature’s Flow’rs bloom.

By your gracious Leave I shall relate an Account of my own humble Circumstances. I am in a new land called the Noto Peninsula, and applying myself as best I can to Study and Learning. My days are quite fulfilled. Tho’ I made only the shallowest Pretense of Learning in my Days in Kyoto, you treated me very favorably. I walked not upon the Path of Righteous Diligence, but was poisoned by a Spirit of Indolence. For those shameful Acts, which deserve only the most severe Opprobrium, I have not the Words to properly express to you my right Contrition.

I was sent to the Noto-Kashima Marine Biological Laboratory this spring by the lab head, where I am guided in my Education by a wise and prudent Mentor: under his Tutelage I have awakened to my previous Errors of Thinking, and thus have I resolved to profoundly change my Ways. My Progress since that Time, had one the Eyes to perceive it, were like the River rushing thro’ a ruined Dam, quite unlike the languid course of the Hozu River. The morning Sun finds me summiting noble Peaks, that my spiritual Heart might be purified, and my earthly Muscles might be sick. It is this Practice which has allowed me to so well perform my Experiments in a skillful Fashion which few have achieved. Furthermore, my Zeal in the Study of English hath granted me a most uncommon Facility of international Communication. With my untiring Vigor, I aim to achieve my own Independence, and with my newfound Strength I shall no longer fear any Foreigner of superior Stature.

It is a Truth universally acknowledged, that it is the coldest Winters which produce the hardiest Pines, and the hardest Times which make the greatest of Men. For who can plant the Seeds of Hope in these troubled Times―who can carve a Path for Japan through the modern Age―who, if not Morita Ichirō? Verily, entrust All to me, and you shall certainly be gorgeous in your Living and want for Nothing.

Here I pause to recall a most unforgettable Event, the Occurrence of which was one Year ago in Spring. It was at the Feast beneath the Cherry Blossoms, in honor of the new Matriculants, in which I participated in the Kamo River Race, but very unwillingly. And who was it who extended her alabaster Hand―offered me a warm Towel―but you.

It was from that Moment which I loved you, and do thee love to this Day. I love you, I love you, I love you; thou art my North Star, my guiding Light. I repeat, I will surely make you the happiest Woman who has lived. And you, by reciprocating my Feelings, would make me the happiest Man.

I pray that, when next we meet, I should be fortunate enough to receive the gracious Favour of your Reply.

Your humble and obedient Servant,

I spent an entire day cooped up in the library across from the station with my nose buried in old dusty tomes, but this was all I managed to come up with. While I was writing I was perfectly convinced that I was perfectly portraying a restrained, cultured gentleman, but reading it back it came off like it was written by a sad, LARPing weirdo. In the second half that pathetic veneer couldn’t stop my lovelorn desire from peeking through, and the contrast with my stiff, made-up period-speak was atrocious. Vile stuff.

This experiment in using unfamiliar verbiage was a failure. Ibuki and I aren’t strangers, so I need to write more casually, intimately. Maybe that might make me sound warmer, make it easier for her to feel fond of me. And once that happens it’s only a matter of time before that kinship turns into something more. Yes, that’s exactly how it will go down. I’m certain of it.

But first, I need some shuteye. Coming up with ersatz period-speak makes my head hurt.

Draft #4

July 31

hi hi its me, morita ichiro

its so hot rite? but no duh its summer lol

how has it been four months since you graduated like omg that’s crazy

i bet ur working super hard at ur new job, and just fyi im rooting for u. its probably like so hard just getting used to everything, but im 100% confident that ull be totally fine, because ur so smart and good at everything. i believe in u!

its been a crazy few months, but im still the same chill morita ichiro u no & love. u can probz tell from da postmark, but i had to escape from kyoto and right now im like miles and miles away at the noto-kashima marine biological laboratory blazing new trails and omg i feel like such a pioneer

being a pioneer is hard work tho like im so swamped that i don’t have time for any hobbies. my smartypants lil sis is always moaning about becoming a “gentlewoman of leisure”, and tbh i wanna do the same lol. whenever im pioneering late into the night i think about all those late nights u and me used to pull together at the lab in kyoto. omg it got so hard the closer you got to finishing ur thesis, amirite? the only good memories I have from those days was when otsuka took us out to neko ramen. omg that place is soooo delish yum yum

u wont believe this but there are no ramen carts here. omg rite? whose brite idea was it to put a lab in such an empty place? its like torture being here every day lol

so ur prolly wondering why im suddenly writing you a letter and its like this, like omg can you believe that komatsuzaki got a girlfriend? i can’t let him leaf me in the dust so here goes

uoy htiw evol ni mi

geddit? i bet u do, but if u dont read it backwards.

LOLLLL

i hope u like it, i felt so brave writing that. i hope that u also feel the same way? and maybe the next time were alone together well be so happy and warm and fuzzy inside and stuff? id 100% make u feel so special u no?

rite back soon! ttyl hugz and kissez XOXO

The biggest problem with this letter is that it makes you want to strangle whoever wrote it.

It’s so annoying. It’s historically annoying. I want to punch myself in the face for finishing it.

I pondered over why this love letter turned out the way it did and came up with 3 reasons.

One, between May and July I slacked off on practicing writing letters to Ibuki. That was because Empress Hisako succeeded in her dastardly plan of pranking me into thinking that Ibuki had a boyfriend, and I got pretty down in the dumps. You have to keep practicing if you want to stay sharp.

Two, once I found out that Ibuki having a boyfriend was a load of crock I was so deliriously happy that wheels came off a bit, and you can see that in my writing here.

Three, I was so obsessed with sounding approachable that I just started to write like a dumbass. The only thing this letter succeeds in conveying is that whoever wrote it has rainbows and unicorns on the brain.

The most important thing I need to do now is regain my mislaid sense of reason. Ibuki’s too smart to entrust herself to someone this featherbrained. I have to express my feelings in a measured fashion.

We live in an information society. If you’re going to write a love letter, you should write it intellectually.

Draft #5

August 16

I hope that the dog days of summer find you well. It’s already been almost five months since you graduated. Have you gotten used to your workplace? Knowing you, I have every confidence you’re on your way to do great things.

I am currently a long way from Kyoto, at a marine biological laboratory on the Noto Peninsula. My supervisor is firm but fair, and under his guidance I spend each day engaged in strenuous but rewarding work.

From time to time I correspond with Komatsuzaki and Ōtsuka, who are back in the Kyoto lab. I also write to Morimi Tomihiko, the author, who also lives in Kyoto. You’re a big fan of his work, aren’t you? I still remember how excited you were for his Christmas Eve book signing.

Since that time, my feelings for you have grown exponentially. But I always hesitated to profess them, for fear that introducing such emotional contaminants into my everyday life would only hinder my intellectual pursuits.

Instead, I attempted to describe the space of the lab using pseudo-Riemannian manifolds, and after pursuing various lines of inquiry in higher mathematics (and with a little help from the theory of general relativity) I succeeded in proving Fermat’s Last Theorem from the rear-right diagonal. Furthermore, I also established that in the special domain of the lab there is formed a simple BM structure, exactly as predicted by the Russian mathematician Melekhov. That is to say, in that hyperlocalized spacetime continuum, the parallel postulate of Euclidean geometry does not apply, Hofma spirals are reversed, and Terepachov ellipses become heart-shaped; parallel lines inevitably diverge, pockmarks become dimples, and men and women must inevitably become intertwined. In other words, I am madly in love with you!

I tried to express my love for her in an intellectual fashion.

I’m a little insecure when it comes to math, so I thought that sprinkling in a little mathematical jargon would make it sound intellectual. But that simpleminded stratagem just ruined the whole thing. The more intellectually you try to write, the further you get from the purpose of a love letter. My desperate attempt to get back on track―namely, “In other words, I am madly in love with you!”―utterly destroyed any remaining faith I had in myself. How did things turn out this way?

I’ve got to change something…I just don’t know what.

Draft #6

August 30

I hope that the dog days of summer find you well. I can hardly believe that it’s already been five months since you graduated. Have you gotten used to your job? Knowing you, I’m sure you’re on your way to do great things.

Allow me to express my deepest regret for what transpired during our recent reunion in Kyoto. I write to you today because I cannot let that misapprehension stand.

What you witnessed that night was by no means a regular occurrence with me. I normally am hard at work each day performing research at a marine biological laboratory on the Noto Peninsula, with nary a boob in sight. I had not been back to Kyoto in some time, and returned that day to help Komatsuzaki resolve a personal problem; it was purely out of friendship that that boob screening was held. You may have misinterpreted the phrase I whispered as, “Three cheers for boobs,” but what I said was, “We sneer at boobs”. In fact, it would not be inapt to say that I despise boobs.

It’s true that there is a man called Taniguchi here at the Noto-Kashima Marine Biological Laboratory, who plays the mandolin and sings paeans to boobs. I am acquainted with someone who, even at an outing to view the Daimonji bonfires, only has eyes for his girlfriend’s boobs. I even know a swaggering fool of an author who spouts nonsense like, “Let there be boobs.”

Yet despite all of that, in me burns a flame of liberty that will not be enfettered by meager protrusions of flesh. I will return to dust one day, but the spirit of freedom will never die. I have always believed that boobs are nothing but impediments to true heart-to-heart communication, and I shall continue my struggle against the squishy enemy.

Therefore I hope to make this clear.

Though there be boobs before me, I shall not be moved; though temptation present itself, my will remains unbowed: I am a man whose soul is white as snow. Each morning I climb the austere peaks, endure the harshest training, stare at lusciously green, round hills while nary a thought of a boob crosses my mind. Even were a boob to suddenly roll onto my desk at the lab, I would simply snort and continue extracting DNA.

So please don’t get the wrong impression of me.

I am not interested in boobs in the slightest. I hate boobs. Screw those

Somehow, the more I deny it the more obvious it is that I am a boob fiend.

I think the problem with this love letter is that it’s too fixated on a single thing. It’s too focused on boobs.

Sure, boobs may be a serious problem for me, and sure, Ibuki witnessing my practice of methodological boob skepticism left a lasting scar on me. But if I really were to send her this boobtastic letter she’d report me on the spot.

It’s Komatsuzaki’s fault that I wrote this. He should never, ever have dragged me into his personal boob problem.

At the same time, letting this misunderstanding stick around feels so aggravating. I need to defend myself. Maybe a more indirect approach will do the trick. And you should never use an earthy word like “boobs” in a letter to a lady; I should have realized that before I wrote this letter. I guess I really am an idiot.

Additionally, rather than wearing my feelings on my sleeve, I should let them rise sublimely in a more artistic fashion. It’s a love letter, it should read a little poetically, to take her breath away with my unexpected romantic side. Unpredictability is key.

Draft #7

September 30

I hope that this fine autumn weather finds you well. I can hardly believe that it’s already been five months since you graduated. Have you gotten used to your job? Knowing you, I’m sure you’re on your way to do great things.

I am currently a long way from Kyoto, at a marine biological laboratory on the Noto Peninsula. My supervisor is firm but fair, and under his guidance I spend each day engaged in strenuous but rewarding work.

I regret that we weren’t able to have a proper conversation when we saw each other in Kyoto. What you saw was not what really happened. What I mean to say is, I only did what I did reluctantly for Komatsuzaki’s sake. You may be wondering to yourself, “Is Morita Ichirō that way?” but I can assure you that I certainly am not. I would venture that if anyone is that way, it’s Komatsuzaki. It is often assumed all men are a certain way, and to an outside observer Komatsuzaki and I might both seem to be that way, but he and I are not alike in any way. I hope that this clears things up. I am not this way, or that way, or any other way at all.

My defense rests.

I’ve written a poem to express how I truly feel.

Oh, my beloved, you are

Lovely, lovely, oh so lovely

Like two lush, round hills

You crest the horizon

Beaming all helter skelter

Striding my way oh so lov-e-ly

Set my heart on fire like rock’n’roll

Don’t know what to do, I scream cock-a-doodle-doo

Oh, my beloved, you are

Lovely, lovely, oh so lovely

Having just finished this letter I’m fighting the urge to light it on fire and watch it burn.

I tried to write about the Titty Incident without using any indecent language, but it’s impossible to talk about it without using the word “boob”. It probably would have been better not to try to defend myself at all.

That’s all fine and well.

But, the poem. I knew perfectly well that the one thing a man in love should never try his hand at is poetry, and yet I sullied my hands all the same. I’d already borne witness to Komatsuzaki’s great failure (or magnum opus?). I’ll be damned before I write a poem again. If this poem ever saw the light of day they’d lock me away for good.

All this effort and I still don’t have a single decent letter to show for it. How can this be? I don’t understand. I’ve given it all I have. I’m just going to have to wait for Morimi Tomihiko to instruct me in the art of writing a love letter.

Draft #8

October 17

I hope that this chilly mid-autumn season finds you well. I can hardly believe that it’s already been seven months since you graduated. Have you gotten used to your workplace? Knowing you, I’m sure you’re on your way to do great things.

I am currently a long way from Kyoto, at a marine biological laboratory on the Noto Peninsula. My supervisor is firm but fair, and under his guidance I spend each day engaged in strenuous but rewarding work. However, I will be returning to Kyoto at the end of the month. The time I’ve spent here at the lab has been trying in more ways than one, but all the same I’m grateful to have been given this opportunity.

How fondly I remember Kyoto, now that I have been away on my scholastic sojourn these many months. When I was there the days had seemed so unremarkable, other than Ōtsuka’s provocations, but now I see that those too were precious days.

I recently advised the author Morimi Tomihiko in a letter that he ought to participate in more cultural pursuits, such as visiting the Museum of Modern Art in Kyoto. It reminded me of the time everyone at the lab went to visit the museum in Okazaki last year. Do you remember that as well? We went all around the hushed museum, gazing at paintings by Fujita Tsuguharu and Hasegawa Kiyoshi. You know how uncultured Komatsuzaki is, and Ōtsuka was never the type to quietly appreciate art, so the only person who really was sincerely looking at the paintings was you.

And me? I was looking at you.

You were standing before a large painting, grasping your left arm with your right hand, almost not breathing. To me, the sight of you was the most wonderful artwork in the museum.

You may not admit it yourself, but you are beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.

I’d never seen a more beautiful person in my life. Every day in the lab I’d look at you and think about how beautiful you were, but that day in the museum you took my breath away. I could have looked all day and not found a single flaw or blemish.

Your forehead is neither too broad nor too narrow; it’s the perfect shape, indicating a moderately-sized, well-developed brain. Your eyes, as they gazed at the Fujita painting, were solemn, yet retained a sense of warmth. Your eyebrows were well-arranged, but not in a cloying artificial way, and the sorrowful wrinkle between your eyebrows as you beheld the painting was almost terrifyingly delicate, exquisite. They say that some people have eyebrows that can speak a thousand words: they must have been talking about you. Your cheeks were smooth and pale, but not in a cold way; they reminded me of a warm china teapot at a restaurant. Your shoulders are wide for a woman, but when you turn your body there’s a charming vulnerability to them. Your posture is always perfect, and the straight line drawn from the top of your head down to the nape of your neck and through your back is so sublimely straight that God must have spent a lot of time getting it just right. Your little exhalations as you looked up in rapture at the painting enraptured me in turn. Your hips and thighs swayed, swaying your weight ever so slightly from side to side as your eyes remained fixed upon the canvas. Every one of your movements was so perfect. If I may go a little further, even your earlobes were perfect. I almost fancied I could see the fuzz on them in the afternoon sunlight, each follicle arranged in perfect harmony, softly and silently enveloping the hard reality of that snug, perfect earlobe. Oh, such a luscious dreamfruit, what I wouldn’t give to sink my

Morimi Tomihiko told me to bathe her in compliments, so that’s what I did.

Somewhere along the way this turned from a love letter into a lust letter; it’s easily in the top 3 creepiest letters I’ve ever written. There’s not a woman in the world who wouldn’t run away screaming from me if they read this. I’m such a moron! And so is Morimi Tomihiko! To hell with him!

I’m undeniably attracted to Ibuki, but trying to analyze that attraction just makes me more confused about it. The only thing that sticks out is how creepy I am. Taking a sober look back at this letter, I don’t even know why I wrote about her earlobes; that definitely isn’t what made me fall for her.

When I try to write a love letter, either I turn into a pervert, or I turn into a dumbass.

Are those really my only two choices in life?

Draft #9

October 26

I hope the bountiful season of autumn finds you well. It’s been a while since we last talked. How quickly time passes; it’s already been eight months since you graduated.

I’ve spent the last six months at a marine biological laboratory on the Noto Peninsula, but in a few days I will be returning to Kyoto. Since my arrival here in April I’ve attempted numerous times to write a letter to you, but I could never bring myself to drop them in the post. I don’t think this letter will be making its way to you, either.

The letters I’ve been trying to write to you are love letters. I’ve been practicing writing draft after draft, and I even asked Morimi Tomihiko to teach me his ways (to no avail). Not one of the drafts I’ve written has been worthy of your eyes. And while I wasted my time dithering with those letters, I made an utter ass of myself right in front of your eyes at the lab.

Yet I continue to write. And I continue to be frustrated.

My feelings for you are true, but when I sit down at my desk to express them to you, they come out all wrong. Now it would be one thing if it just sounded a little awkward, but sometimes what I write disgusts even myself. Morimi told me that that happens because I don’t write with a pure heart, but I don’t think I’m so nakedly impure as to produce that kind of filth. Of course there is plenty of impurity within me, but I’m certain there are also parts of me that are pure. But when it comes to writing love letters, those pure parts are nowhere to be found. And if that’s the case, why try to write a love letter at all?

Maybe I’ve come down with an illness that prevents me from writing love letters.

I used to think it was simple, that love letters were just a tool to convey feelings between a man and a woman, and that all you had to do was polish your ability to write one. Maybe there are people for whom that is possible, but it certainly doesn’t seem possible for me. I can sit at my desk and flex my creative muscle all I want, but my efforts inevitably go awry.

I don’t know why that happens.

But I think that this time I’ve really exhausted all of my options.

So I’m giving up on writing a love letter.

Just like the others, this letter isn’t worthy of reaching you.

It’s 2 A.M. on October 27th. I’m staying at the Kaigetsu Inn with Taniguchi here in Wakura Onsen. Taniguchi passed out after getting completely plastered. I re-read yesterday’s letter, listening to him snore the whole time. This might be the most decent letter I’ve managed to write. Maybe my theory was right after all.

If I really do try to write one last love letter, how should I approach it? I re-read all of my failed drafts, and here’s what I’ve learned:

• Don’t boast
• Don’t grovel
• Don’t write too stiffly
• Don’t be a dumbass
• Don’t try to sound intelligent
• Don’t focus on boobs
• Don’t wax poetic
• Don’t be obsequious
• Don’t try to write a love letter