> My Dear Dead Girl,
Yes, that would be me.
> I believe that you believe that what you are saying is true.
A matter of belief is sometimes strong enough to bring about a reality.
> But nothing could be further from my belief of what you believe.
But... do you believe it?
> These confessions of love for me are simply revisionist history gone awry.
Oh, NO, my sweet! No, not so! I would never, ever tell you any kind of lie! Yet you so quickly, and always it seems, wish to believe the very worst of me!
> You simply cannot admit to the affair with Stiffane in vault number 12, and I know with certainty that you at least gave of yourself emotionally, if not physically.
Ah, but it was only a ruse, you see. I had to pretend to care that her body became separated from her head. It was all terribly confusing for her.
> Everyone in the room felt bad for that poor girl who was decapitated in the chainsaw accident
during her honeymoon in Montana. Hell…I felt bad too, but you never saw me cheating to console her.
You speak with forked tongue, my love! Just because I am dead, doesn't mean I didn't learn of your
rabid infidelities on that tourist fishing boat! And you said it was all just fun and fish and vodka.
> I only had eyes for you.
Oh, how I wish it were so!!! Even still in the throes of death, I long for your touch!
> The night I came in early to find her head resting between your legs was a shock!
What was I to do, knowing that she was merely a castoff from a leper colony? Girard in #20 was so convinced he could bowl with her head, and I encouraged him to try! It cannot possibly be my fault that her head flopped and landed between my legs! What you thought you saw was purely a fig newton of your imagination. You always were such a cool cucumber on the outside, and such a madly, insanely jealous lover on the inside.
> She could not have rolled herself into that sweet spot,
No, but Girard indeed bowled her there, and you happened upon us at such an inopportune moment.
> and this, after you refused my advances.
Love of my life, why, oh why do you tell such bald-faced lies to all of the general populace? It is you who refused MY advances! How could you so soon forget!
> Just a bit hurtful, but I forgave and cut you quarter because you were dead.
You have never forgiven me for being human, and now that I am inescapably dead, I fear I shall never receive your forgiveness. I am but a dead girl walking without you.
> Now, I think you killed yourself just for the sympathy factor.
But dearest, it is you who killed me! You cannot claim I committed suicide when I was felled by your callous, cold, black heart!
> What you accomplished, in a effort to build your curb appeal,
Make that spanish stucco, my sweet, with a faux mediterranean front.
> is tear down the very foundations of our love.
You lie! I would never dream of doing such a thing. Wouldn't even begin to.
> I had no illusions about your rotting corpse. I never did.
Well, as you didn't offer me the services I so desired in life, I am not surprised that you refused to offer me the acts I so craved even from beyond the grave. Perhaps it was I who existed only in illusions.
> Our time was limited, and you frittered it away with a woman!
I frittered it away whilst innocently flirting with Girard, and he then frittered Stiffane's head away by having mistaken it for a bowling ball and consequently spiriting it off of her body. I'm frighfully sorry for the confusion, darling! This was no affair! I swear!
> Well… not on my watch babe. That’s why I left.
And, as always, you completely misconstrue the actual reality of events simply by acting in jealous haste at what you thought you observed.
> At that one moment in time, accepting you’ as is’ was the greatest gift I could bestow.
How I wished that you had. Nothing would have made me happier. I would have changed my flirtatious ways just for you, innocent though they have been, but I am very dead, now, since your departure. I do not think that I can be anything but dead, ever again.
> Finding the limits of our love was all you could recognize.
My pet, is this the mortician calling the murder a suicide? Inasmuch as I somewhat see your point, you surely must know that I have given this my utmost of attention and effort, to try to see for myself how it all must have seemed to you. My limitations are but a dream of a body now shed. The ghost of me craves you deeply.
> Your status as a dead girl was problematic for only you…not me.
Being dead is not a thing of status, and it does truly hinder one's ability to dream of creating any future, be it distant or near.
> So you searched out those limits (as t approaches infinity),
Love of my life, you have always been so much more intelligent than I. What ARE you talking about, here?
> and saw only the very worst in us.
You have neglected to shed any light on your own major limitations, although vastly different than my own, and the fact that those limitations provided us with a far greater set of challenges than my being dead could ever have begun to cause. How unfair it is of you to blame our demise on my deadness... and then to falsely accuse me of consorting with another! How could you?!
> It was a self-full filling prophecy. Hidden behind the social graces of a very proper dead girl, is the truth behind our love, and the lesbian affair that brought it to ruin.
The bowling ball head was no lesbian affair, my love. Girard simply +must+ improve his bowling skills. Why, oh why, do you always react so vehemently with the worst of assumptions in situations that simply are not what you have led yourself to believe??
> Your only real concern seems to be in keeping up the pretenses, no matter the cost to your honor or the loss that ensues.
No pretenses here, my love. None whatsoever. I have never shown you pretense of any kind, and you know this.
> I have not given up on you!
And I will never, ever give up on you! I may be dead, but surely you can Bring Me To Life.
> I just need something real from a dead girl. This includes a little honesty.
I would be elated to offer you all the honesty you could possibly want or need, should you have the courage to simply request it of me.
Please, though, could you ask Girard to stop using the heads of the other occupants of this morgue for his lighthearted bowling practice? Next thing I know, I will be accused of a heterosexual affair when I'm not having any kind of affair that doesn't include ^ONLY YOU^!
> I love you still!!
I love you more.
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