(My Bride Arrives)
I got to be honest with you Nelima, I got to. You weren't the only one worried shitless crazy. There used to be others, Nelima, always. You may wonder why, or what was their essence, but Nelima, you and I both know beyond reasonable high that they had a purpose. You too for that matter.
It may spiritually come as shocking, but yes! This is designed to terrify you. And yes I'm such a bad person to have chosen this day, (Not that today means anything,) but from here henceforth, Today shall mark the day that I officially do this..... Whatever....
What wonders me in sadness is that how could others exist while you got here first? Did I get too comfortable? Could it be that your treads got tired or was my gas too low for the miles? Was it me or was it just me? I was the one who broke our rules of engagement anyways, so it's only fair that I lift off some blame from the sunken ship. Nelima, you had potential.
But as I headlessly pondered over it, turned out that it was no one's fault. It wasn't your fault that you had many souls out there that I fell for. It wasn't my fault that I never had a type, but you. Nelima I drove you crazy, like I stole you, oiled you up, and crawled beneath you to see what needed fixing, and I did fix the broken spots. Even Licked some in the process. Those days Nelima, are gone by the river.
If you were to cry, which I know you must, even though there's nothing teary about this, I suggest you tear it! And refrain from wiping your butt with this, for the edges of these words are sharp; they may rip you asunder.
Unless you are no longer interested in closure, which you apartheidically tortured me into submission, I suggest you don't read this.
Nelima, my bride Arrives later this afternoon, in a yellow knee-length dress and black sandals, with an Afro hair erectedly gazing at my smile. There's only seats for two. I'm not sorry, I had to let you off and it had nothing to do with when my bride arrives.
Written by Phill Ibsen, Master of Descriptions.