I love you.

I call this a prose poem.

I also call it an apology.

—

I love you.

Okay, now say it with more feeling.

I love you?

Better, but with more passion this time.

I love you?

Close, but it’s missing something. Say my name.

I love you, Caitlyn.

Say it slower though, like you mean it.

I loooovvee yooo—

Not that slow!

I…love…you…Caitlyn.

Better, but it’s still not right. Hmm. Call me something else—call me “babe.”

I love you, Babe.

Try “baby.”

I love you, Baby.

Maybe it’s what you’re wearing. Can you put something else on?

[In a hat.] I love you.

Now you look ridiculous. Say it to me over dinner tonight.

[Over dinner tonight.] I love you.

What if you were holding a ring?

[Holding a ring.] I love you.

God, that’s still not right. Someone get this guy a baby!

[With a child.] I love you.

Hmm. Take me on vacation; tell me then.

[Clinking glasses.] I love you.

Now say it while you kiss me!

Mm mmuvf mooph.

Are you trying at all?

I LOVE YOU!

You don’t have to shout it! Geez.

. . .

You don’t love me at all, do you?

Bitch.

January 5, 2011