An Unusual Love Letter

I seem to have the uncanny ability of disappointing, not just several, but all those around me in some shape or form. Ironically, it seems that my only priority is to please anyone and everyone around me, especially her. I am a miserable failure.

I apologize to all those whom have had the misfortunate of being around me or worst case scenario having to deal with me, especially her. I am a difficult individual. I know this. But not many do. Sadly, I have done a stupendous job at covering this up. From the outside in, I am perfect. Fuck modesty. I have almost all important bases covered: I have no relevant flaws nor am I blatantly one-sided. I have mastered the art of balance. And I am damn proud. But since true perfection and balance are unattainable, one may ask where my shortcomings may fall. The answer is fairly straight-forward. My shortcomings, imperfections, insecurities, fears and nightmares are all stored in a secret place that is invisible. Invisibility does not mean it does not exist — but many moons ago I learned that people only know as much as you tell them. And thus, by doing so, present an image of grandeur. Fake and false, indeed, but mighty and invincible to the masses. What a pity of a life form I am. I’m almost disgusted with myself. The apparent joy that I sometimes bring to those around me is the only thing that keeps me going.

My rhetoric gets the best of me. I lack content. I know this now (thanks to her). The best analogy I could compose would be that I’m like a beautiful car painted with the most vibrant of colors. I have the best of engines with a more than modest interior. Visually, I am stunning. Statistically, I am flawless. Many would jump to say that the immaculate exterior/interior matched with impressive performance equates to near perfection. But it’s what you don’t see that hurts: the horrible, disgusting, pitiful, sorry to be an excuse, suspension system. It’s hidden deep within the crevices of the car only to be discovered by those very few whom are “apparently” fortunate enough to take a test ride.

I’m done being the center of attention. I’m done being apparently flawless and without rust. I’m worn out. I want to be flawful. I want to be wrong. I want to be mistaken. I want to make mistakes. I want to live. I want to be hated. I want to be normal. I want to be real. I want to be done giving test rides. I’ve found my owner and she’s taking me home.

In the past, which is often times very important when analyzing one’s psyche, I have grown to understand that I really have not sincerely cared. Though the mental strain has been severe (which is a sort of caring) — I never once let or wanted the opposition know I was hurting. I guess that’s my competitive side coming out. Alas, competition is good but not in all arena’s of life. She’s my saving grace. My best friend and worst enemy. I love her to death and sometimes I want to kill her. But at the end of the night, just before I close my eyes… I count my blessings knowing that I have her to hold for another day.

I’m sorry for being such a jackass sometimes, Britni. But, you are sometimes the most stubborn and unreasonable person that I have ever met. And that’s okay. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I sincerely love you from the deepest cracks of my heart.

Adieu. Navid.