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Dearly beloved,

I have a story. Perhaps The Story. Whatever its relevance or legacy might turn out to be I would like to give this story to you. As a gift. First in the series of many between us or possibly also the last. 'Tis all in the stars, baby.

I want this gift to be truly yours. To come into existence for you and for you only. Therefore, I would like you to tell me, how you desire this gift to be gifted from me to you.

Do you want your gift to come in the form of a power ballad, a lyrical dance or perhaps a french cream soup or a crop top? Seen in a dream, referenced in flawless Harvard style or bought in a store? Family audience or hopeless smut? Do you want it to taste like rain and smell like sex or feel like seafoam and sound like your mother walking at night softly as not to wake you, but you still hear her on the edge of your sleep? Do you want it to have an emancipated female hero or focus on the lives of long-hair-guinea-pig breeders, take place amidst the settling of the Wild West, the Cuban missile crisis or on the backyard verandah of our aunt's boyfriends' younger sister? Do you want it to be suspenseful, cheesy, cheerful, utterly boring or curiously nondescript? Do you want it long, short or medium length and curving oh so slightly to the left? Loud and generous, cold and technical, sweeping and vague... categories and descriptors, combinations, variations and temptations above and beyond my wildest imaginations are yours for the taking... As a gift. As long as you know what you want and do not hesitate to inform me.

Turn and face the strange ch-ch-changes with me.

Best regards
Yours Sincerely
Yours Truthfully
Yours Ever
SHE DIED OF LOVE