Dear she who will not be named,
We became friends in the sixth grade. Not the school-grounds-only kind of friends either. We were the sleepover-every-weekend-eat-junk-food-talk-about-boys kind of friends. This meant that you knew me well, better than most people in fact. Which meant you should have known one of the most elemental things about me: I love to read. That is not a trivial fact, an attribute, or a piece of my pie. It’s the whole damn pie. I am heart and soul a bibliophile. I would rather sit in my front yard and read a good book than do almost anything else. I have a Pinterest page titled, “Books <3.” My bookshelf is always pristine, and I care for my books like a mother cares for her children. So, because you were my friend, I assumed you would care for my book in the same manner to which it was accustomed. What made your crime so horrific was that it wasn’t just some book pulled from the bottom of my shelf. It was one of my favorites. One of those books I hate to lend people because I might spontaneously get the urge to read it for the xth time, and be unable to get my fix. However, I could not in good conscious keep you from the reading the glorious book that you requested; so I lent it to you. When you received it, it looked practically new. No one would have been able to tell just by looking at it that I had already read it five consecutive times. When you rudely returned it to me three months later—I mean seriously, three months; it wasn’t exactly War and Peace—it was mangled. The protective cover was bent in several places, it had a black mark on the back, and it had scratches all over it, and the first half of the book had water damage, or should I say mysterious red liquid damage. There were also mysterious grooves on the first couple pages that looked like you took a fork them. When you handed me back my fallen loved one I was torn between wanting to cry and wanting to backhand you. If someone asked me why we are no longer friends, I would probably say something along the lines of “We’re different kinds of people now” or “Because I have standards and integrity” In reality, this is not the case. I refrain from divulging my true motivation because it would sound petty, and let’s face it completely crazy; but the truth is I may never forgive you for what I have titled The Book Debacle of 2011.
Truly no longer yours,