There Suarez, c/o Could It Be Satan? 1st Circle Hell, CA
11:41 p.m.

Dear Therese,

Hi, it's Jonathan. Remember me? Yes, I'm alive. I'm sorry that I forged that obituary; but your re-appearance caught me by my surprise, and I must confess that I was rather irritated that you seemed to think you could simply pick up and be my intimate the way you were before. Nevertheless, it was absolutely immature of me to do what I did -- I heard afterwards that you had contacted Kristin and some others in some kind of fugue or panic, wondering what the hell had happened to me. That was, I will repeat, the wrong thing to do, forging my death notice. It's a little peculiar to reflect that the more mature thing to have done would've been simply to ignore you.

Well, Kristin and the others contacted me, telling me of your fish-out-of-your-water panicked flapping about me. I have to admit, that was satisfying. Yes, Therese, I feel guilty I made you feel bad for ten to fifteen whole minutes, but I think even you would admit, for the sheer disregard with which you've treated me and your contempt for a friendship I had stupidly invested too much faith and meaning withal, a quarter-hour of false grief and remorse seems like cheaply got payback. So I am alive after all--- what does that mean to you? It is better for me that you imagine me dead, so that you would perhaps at least think of me sometime, if just to congratulate yourself about what an evil, evil person you are and oh poor Jonathan, as it is better for me that this letter never be sent, nor ever read.

I miss you so fucking much I wish I really was dead.

Jonathan

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