Dear Connie,

I know the counselor said we shouldn't contact each
other during our &quot;cooling off&quot; period, but I couldn't
wait anymore. The day you left, I swore I'd never
talk to you again. But that was just the wounded little
boy in me talking. Still, I never wanted to be the first
one to make contact. In my fantasies, it was always
you who would come crawling back to me. I guess
my pride needed that. But now I see that my pride's
cost me a lot of things. I'm tired of pretending I don't
miss you. I don't care about looking bad anymore. I
don't care who makes the first move as long as one
of us does.

Maybe it's time we let our hearts speak as loudly as
our hurt. And this is what my heart says: &quot;There's no
one like you, Connie.&quot; I look for you in the eyes and
breasts of every woman I see, but they're not you.
They're not even close. Two weeks ago, I met this
girl at Flamingos and brought her home with me. I
don't say this to hurt you, but just to illustrate the
depth of my desperation.

She was young, maybe 19, with one of those perfect
bodies that only youth and maybe a childhood spent
ice skating can give you. Every man's dream, right?
But as I sat on the couch being blown by this stunner,
I thought, look at the stuff we've made important in
our lives. It's all so superficial.

What does a perfect body mean? Does it make her
better in bed? Well, in this case, yes, but you see what
I'm getting at. Does it make her a better person? Does
she have a better heart than my moderately attractive
Connie? I doubt it. And I'd never really thought of that
before.

I don't know, maybe I'm just growing up a little. Later,
after I'd tossed her about a half a pint of throat yogurt,
I found myself thinking, &quot;Why do I feel so drained and
empty?&quot; It wasn't just her flawless technique or her
slutty, shameless hunger, but something else. Some
nagging feeling of loss. Why did it feel so incomplete?
And then it hit me. It didn't feel the same because you
weren't there to watch. Do you know what I mean?
Nothing feels the same without you. Jesus, Connie,
I'm just going crazy without you. And everything I do
just reminds me of you.

Do you remember Carol, that single mom we met at
the Holiday Inn lounge last year? Well, she dropped
by last week with a pan of lasagna. She said she
figured I wasn't eating right without a woman around.
I didn't know what she meant till later, but that's not
the real story.

Anyway, we had a few glasses of wine and the next
thing you know, we're banging away in our old
bedroom. And this tart's a total monster in the sack.
She's giving me everything, you know, like a real
woman does when she's not hung up about her
weight or her career and whether the kids can hear
us. And all of a sudden, she spots that tilting mirror
on your grandmother's old vanity. So she puts it on
the floor and we straddle it, right, so we can watch
ourselves. And it's totally hot, but it makes me sad,
too. Cause I can't help thinking, &quot;Why didn't Connie
ever put the mirror on the floor? We've had this old
vanity for what, 14 years, and we never used it as a
sex toy.&quot;

Saturday, your sister drops by with my copy of the
restraining order. I mean, Vicky's just a kid and all,
but she's got a pretty good head on her shoulders
and she's been a real friend to me during this painful
time. She's given me lots of good advice about you
and about women in general. She's pulling for us to
get back together, Connie, she really is. So we're
doing Jell-O shots in a hot bubble bath and talking
about happier times. Here's this teenage girl with the
same DNA as you and all I can do is think of how
much she looked like you when you were 18. And
that just about makes me cry.

And then it turns out Vicky's really into the whole
anal thing, that gets me to thinking about how many
times I pressured you about trying it and how that
probably fueled some of the bitterness between us.
But do you see how even then, when I'm thrusting
inside your baby sister's cinnamon ring, all I can do
is think of you? It's true, Connie. In your heart you
must know it.

Don't you think we could start over? Just wipe out
all the grievances away and start fresh? I think we
can.

If you feel the same please, please, please let me
know. Otherwise, can you let me know where
the fucking remote is.

Love, Dan