Are We Going to Talk About this Sexual Tension Between Us, Nexustentialism?

Dearest Nexy,

I thought of you this evening at 7:54 p.m. I dreamed of your supple paper and your deep, obsidian, inky ink text. I burst from my bed to go onto your blog, where we began our sordid, long-distance affair…

What a funny idea… Debaucherous gnomes colonizing a UCSB building in the moonlight… Wait.

You plagiarizing sacks of shit. How dare you suckle at the teat of greatness?!

Imagine my surprise to find my own lover had taken my genius, my gnomes, and matriculated, manipulated, masticated my own material for serial masturbatin’ publicatin’. For shame, you insolent swine!

After I gave you this BEAUTIFUL CARD…

I understand you’re obsessed with me (who wouldn’t be?), but I’d like you to consider the strain this puts on our relationship. Curse your philandering ways, you playboy billionaires!

In order to salvage our relationship, you must meet our demands… Don’t you wanna make this work?!?!!?

 1. We demand $50,000 restitution for all the therapy we had to undergo. 
 2. Expect to hear from our lawyers. We’ll be paying them with the rest of the trillions of dollars of future psychological damage restitution you will be owing us. They’re well funded, these are Lori Loughlin-level lawyers...they know their shit.
 3. Please more kisses before bed.
 4. Thank you for not snitching on me when I stole Mom’s lotion.
 5. I hope you have a good day at school, honey.
 6. The sexting needs to stop or become more tasteful, like nice French cooking. Baste me in the juices of your love. Tenderize the loins of my sorrow. Stuff my insides with your sexual generosity. Treat me like one of your French birds.
 6. We need to establish which literary romance trope we are: friends to enemies? Enemies to friends? Enemies to lovers? Son who kills the dad and marries the mother? Coworkers to BDSM partners? 
 7. All I ask is that you take out the trash, please, at least once.
...Oh, no wait, don’t do that. I don’t want you to see that I accidentally threw out ALL my copies of The Nexus and lit them on FIRE! Your tears of misery will fuel my hatred.
 8. 8

Once you meet our terms, we will accept your heartfelt apologies in the form of a song—preceded by a dramatic rock-at-window introduction, where you sweep me off my feets and serenade me under the moonlight. Or, a flash mob. You’ve gotta “rock” my world, and nothing less will suffice.