Well, I got back to Provo last night and one of the first things I did was run like a frightened child to the ever-loving side of my dear Jenny, or Schmoopsy-poo as I like to call her when my heart is most profusely gushing forth its unending affections towards her.
We had been divided by hundreds—nay! thousands—of miles, and the tendrils of enduring obsession binding our hearts together were stretched to the breaking point. And so it was no surprise that when we got together last night it seemed that the petals of our fiery flower of love had wilted like a corsage in a microwave. I mean, all she could do was talk about Neal Diamond. And I, for my part, just kept on raving about the ridiculousness of Notting Hill. The very air was poisoned against us and the love that once was, but is now condemned to be no more than a tormenting memory of mushy pet names and awkward photo shoots! So—with mutual admiration, but unable to overcome the widening gulf rending our relationship in two—we called it off.
Alas and wo unto us for that past promise of eternal ping-pong matches which now is not! Alas that Jenny-sweets no longer shall gaze into my eyes like a mosquito drawn towards a bug zapper! Alas that my keyboard now is short-circuited by my free-flowing tears!
And so I ask myself if ever the blissful days of yore shall return; if ever I shall dare to leap joyously with heals a-clicking over an oily puddle of rainwater; or if I will once more in this life chuckle at the wit of graffiti on an underpass wall. And then into my dimming mind echo the words I know so well: for thus quoth the Raven, “Nevermore!” And so, dear Jenny, farewell!