Writing A Love Letter

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What an archaic concept.

Nowadays we don’t need words. Just eggplant and giggle-face and you are good to fuck.

That’s about two step baser than a peacock fanning its tail and twerking.

If our grandparents had access to this level of instantaneous no-reading-required hookup, there’d be a lot more entitled middle-aged men around about now – contraception what’s that? – So we must be thankful.

Be thankful and grateful for the hedonistic freedom we have in the 21st century.

No longer are we required to make connections with one another, not when the ultimate expression of intimacy is the willingness to take things up the butt.

No longer are we expected to express our emotions in coherent sentences, not when sending a GIF of two pandas fucking in a forest of bamboo conveys the same horniness…more or less.

And with our sexual needs so thoroughly satisfied, there is no more reason to talk about how the other person’s life is going, how their weekend was, why do they seem upset etc., since the purpose of these menial conversations is to lead to more fucking, and we’ve already had enough.

Confronted by this truth – the truth that there are very, very few people out there who genuinely give a shit about anything we do or feel – our first reaction is to reach for our phones with the goal of hitting the next post-coital glow. It drives all that we do.

Because no one feels lonely in the middle of an orgasm.

Thus, we keep fucking.

It is what we are born to do, after all. And the more steps we can skip to get there, the better.

Then, we complain.

Complain that no one gives a shit when we are upset and need to whine about the world treating us unfairly, about the people we sleep with not being attractive enough to make up for their bitchery. Words, blocks and block of text, hours and hours of chatting and phone calls – we send to each and every person we sort of know in the hope that someone, anyone, cares enough to care about you.

But remember, these are words. Coherent sentences. Expressions of genuine emotion.

Archaic concepts.

But it’ll be OK. Don’t worry about it.

Just keep chasing the next fuck.

It’ll make everything better.

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