Melvin’s Letter

If you’re reading this, then it’s too late, and I’m already gone. I’ve taken the liberty to save you the trouble of explaining your needs and wants to me like I’m a child or better yet, your servant. I can no longer wait for you to make up your mind on how to best feed our souls with the necessary nutrients. I’ve picked up everything I need to make my journey. Anything else is just binary, secondary to my plan for distance. I’ve held my tongue long enough, lost for words because I didn’t know how to approach you the way you approach your silly cravings. I compiled a list of the things we needed to make this work, but somehow that wasn’t enough for you.

I don’t want you to feel upset over my decision not to confide in you. Don’t mope over the thought I’d forget the little things that made our feasts homely. I know how you like to talk about creating a tradition of ingredients made by us. The way you’d sprinkle little secrets into your performance like an inside joke.

I’m done doing all that – I want to try new things – you need to try something new. I can’t have whatever you have because our bodies don’t work the same way.

Somehow, I feel all of this is my fault. I played along with your “go-with-the-flow” attitude, hoping we’d find structure and discipline along the way. But I know that’s never going to happen unless I handle things myself.

By the way, I took your car – mine has a flat tire and I need you to get it fixed. That should keep you busy till I get back.

I’m making dinner so, please try to be home early. I don’t want to eat alone… again.

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