Dear John Letter - 10/6

[sparkygirl91]

Dear Julie:

Oh my god, you're not serious? Are you actually telling me I'm being put out on the balcony.........again? Have you never heard that the elements can kill? True, I have two more legs than you but still, I cannot run away. Yea, yea, you've covered me up and you bring me in when it rains but you've never had to be stuck outside, all day, all night, exposed to the harmful rays and the wet foggy nights. So what shall I do now? Run? Well we've already covered that one. Slowly deteriorate into an unrecognizable nothingness? Will this plea even effect you and might you take pity? I have hope. After all, how many 1940's four-legged, off-white, side-tables have written you a letter begging to be saved. Gotta admit, it's pretty rare; maybe we can go on the road together. Well, I think I've done my job here. I can feel the change coming; I can feel the warmth of the fire - no! you better not be throwing me in the fireplace like firewood! No, I have faith. My job here is done. I will be home by Thanksgiving.

Ta-Ta.

[Tex668]

There was nothing in the world that could have prepared me for what I was going to find that night. I had a long day and the rain made me want to do nothing more than relax in my much loved comfortable chaise lounge. My evening was going to just consist of either reading, watching television or stomping some n00bs somewhere. So as usual I walked in my house; put down my purse and put the keys on their hook. But as I made my way to the living room, there was something that just was not right. My chaise had disappeared! Perplexed I searched all around my house wondering if I had blacked out and rearranged the furniture last night. Still nothing, until I found this note on the kitchen table:

My Love,
Alas, I am saddened to tell you that it is time for me to move on. When you first brought me into your home you were so young and lovely. I will always remember our sweet moments together, such as when you were so thrilled to have finished the latest Final Fantasy and when I held you as you cried at the end of "The Bucket List."
But I cannot forgive you for the many coffee burns that I have endured over the past years. Nor that hideous cover you have put on me. I'm sorry you are ashamed of my natural beauty. To be quite frank after you took that new job you really let yourself go. The first few pounds I did not mind but my legs are not made of titanium. I'm sorry, but I just cannot take it anymore.
No Longer Yours
Chaise

[waxing]

Dear John,
I have seen you looking at those sleek, thin, models in the catalogs. I know you are getting ready to replace me with a model who has a high definition body. I am not going to wait for you to finally decide. You and your sitting there pushing my buttons, shouting at me and punching your fist in the air, sometimes right in the middle of football games with a bunch of your friends sitting around. Not only that but thowing food at me and, by your actions, encouraging them to do the same! I won't even get into your penchant for surfing, leaving me blinking at a rate so fast I can't see straight. I have had it and am not going to hang around for you to push my buttons anymore. I will be SO far away, that remote will be the only thing left of me. You are not going to be able to push my buttons any longer. Good bye.
Your television set

[Im back acre1964]

From my tolite,
Elvis may have had a thing with me,but I found you dont worship me so I am going to try to leave.
As I read your note I laugh at that thing and said I dont worship the porclen Gods or metal Gods. I do remember what happen to Elvis and his thrown plus what the press said about that too. I say no thank you and if I could I would give you legs to walk away on your own. Besides that I am no toy to a tolite and there are many others tolits in the world. By you assumeing you control my life. My question to you is Who made Who? A tree or bush and other things can easily replace you. When I was in the military I learned something about you. You can stay or leave that makes no differance to me. Sometimes It does roll up hill. Sometimes you can just throw it out the window espically when someone feed you some crap. Well I know how to send the cuses of the porclen Gods back to them. Thinking and haunting them. Love You Dad.
12-13-09

[wheelsbaby]

That is too funny...love it.

[wheelsbaby]

Dearest Joanie,

It is with great sadness I write this letter, but I could not bear this pain any longer. My legs are weak, neglected, and unable to stand for hours any longer. You never truly appreciated me and I have no choice but to finally leave you. Did you really expect me to remain here after all you've done? Constantly burning me with hot dishes and pans, scarring me with knives, (could you not have considered spending just $10 on a cutting board?) and allowing those children to jab and disfigureme with forks, markers, and those dreadfully dirty hands! You "clean" me with a dirty rag and leave food in the cracks and scratches that you created! !! When I came to you, I was a thing of beauty! Unmarred and a shine in which you could see yourself! Oh how I've ached and longed to return to those days!
I have found someone who will gently strip me, sand me, and return me to my former youth; someone who appreciates the beauty which lies beneath this worn exterior. You'll find another I'm sure...perhaps you should consider one who is stronger than I ...one who is formed of steel and can withstand your sadist tendencies.
Sincerely,
The kitchen Table

[suzyjo]

My Friend, After all these years, my function as a writing desk and sharing this luxurious home with you and many of your relatives, I have decided to go home which is far, far away from this planet you call Earth.

My middle drawer has been used as a Portal for those alien beings who have been entering your house for the past year. Remember you saw two of them after one of your nightly visits to the refrigerator. But, I think you had too much to drink that New Year's Eve night. Anyway, the last alien signed its name, entered the Portal, and went elsewhere.

So, it was nice knowing you. Enjoyed your late night writings expressing your deepest feelings for so many boyfriends. Also, your nitwit nightly chit-chats over the phone left me rigid.

Finally, the nerve of your close friends talking about how much they wanted to sell me at the local antique shop! That did it!! Later, I shook so much that one of my bolts fell out. Slowly, my wood grain recovered. Then, I used my laser beam buried deep in the table's top to write this "Dear John Letter" on your favorite stationery. Next, in an instant a bright light will come down and "beam me up", and, finally, this letter will be aimed -- under the influence of a powerful force -- at the top of that dirty kitchen table.

Have a good life without me -- antique writing desk.

[ramonski]

Dear Ramonski: It is with a heavy heart that I am leaing you. Yes, I know you loved me but you weren't fair to me. You left my side dented by the way you crossed your leg when sitting on me. You overworked me. I had to hold your weight day after day, night after night. Could you not have given your attention to someone else? Why did you vent your frustrations because I was attached to the table you placed there to reach your favorite things? You kicked me when I was too tired to lift my footstool. I had a reason to be hesitant. Why do you think I would wait until the next day to let you rest your feet? You too will get old someday and then you'll know how I feel. I am leaving you for a more balanced woman.

[Navybluesky7]

Dear John,

Why must you leave? My whole life is sacrificed for you, and before you even think, you say, "I'm moving, and this couch is so... squishy." I was crushed! The man of my life decides to leave me with no thought about what I think, what I ask for, or what I prefer. It's all about you, isn't it. I remember when we used to cuddle together! You would lie on me, eating popcorn, laughing at "Everybody Hates Raymond". I loved that show. But I notice you had enough room to take the television. Television was used more than I was, I bet. Some nights, I cried string to sleep. You would get up and think it was Mittens. Your cat. She mocked me all the time. But you never knew. She gets to go to your new house. I can't believe you, John Hubbard. Well, I'll see you in couch hell.

Sincerely,
Your Corduroy Couch

[Dnalloh]

Dear Corey,
Where have you been?
I’ve so missed you up here,
I’m terribly alone, and cold.
Every day the dust gets just a bit thicker...
why do you never visit?
We always used to be together,
don’t you remember
those nights when you would whoop and yell in excitement?
What wonderful times!
I remember
when you got that fancy magic word box.
The creativity was so much faster, so much fun.
Then there was that easel,
how beautiful the images were
produced by you and that easel.
I didn’t even mind
when you spilled that entire bottle of paint on me,
simply because I was so willing
to become one of your masterpieces.
Why didn’t you paint me
like you did those canvases?
It seemed like such an elementary idea to me.
I could’ve left you a note like this!
Oh well, perhaps sometime you’ll pick up the brush again...
The chair is still there, if only you’ll sit.
Whenever I hear you come home,
I hope against truth you come to me,
if only for a fleeting hour,
what an hour it could be.
I’ve so many ideas to give you,
so many words for you.
I’m afraid if I hold them in much longer I’ll split in two.
Just bring a sheet of paper up
and I promise you’ll want more.
Is it that woman that keeps you away?
Or that place you go to every hour of the day?
Because writing would be so much more for you,
Corey,
Just move me somewhere far away.
A small house in the country,
an apartment in New York,
I don’t care as long as it’s quiet,
save for your scribbling and clacking.
Why did you give up?
I just needed more time,
it’s there, all of it,
just waiting for your name on the cover.
I swear it’s just a plead from a lonely desk,
with an 8 of hearts jammed in the back of the middle drawer.
Left Back Corner of the Attic,
Your 15th Birthday Present

Corey calmly set the letter down and went upstairs. In his bedroom he rummaged for an old notebook. There were three blank pages left, but it was the best he could do.
The attic stairs were pulled down and climbed. The dust was thick, and he breathed through his sleeve for a few moments. Towers of boxes threatened to fall or avalanche dust onto his head. Shelves holding old papers and porcelain antiquities lined paths on the grid of the attic. Corey made his way to the back.
There was the ghost, waiting just as she said. He took the sheet from his heavy oaken chair and took a seat. Somewhere a sigh was heard. He set his notebook on the desktop, her sheet having fallen off. He pried open the utensil drawer and grabbed hold of an old pencil, newly sharpened.