hey, look, i’m glad you made it out
the apartment okay. i heard the fire spread
all the way down to the first floor,
which is a shame. just so you know,
i never meant to harm anyone, especially not you.
the thing is, i thought you were gone for the night,
out at that paper-folding schmooze fest
you kept going on about.
it might not seem like it now,
but what i did was for your own good.
don’t get me wrong, it was precious,
the way you proposed to me
with a metallic silver ring made out of paper,
a tiny gold box where a diamond should be…
but i thought for sure the other ring, the real ring,
would have been waiting for me elsewhere.
in the pit of a crystal glass, for example.
yet when it never came, even after months
and months of waiting, i started to see you
as less of an artist and more of what my mother
has always seen you as: a professional hobbyist.
so anyway, i’m sure there’s lots you have to say,
especially about that job in japan—
a job you probably would’ve never gotten
had i not pushed you the way i did—but no rush,
i don’t expect a thank you anytime soon.