I know what they say about you. How you’re predictable and tired. That you’re the mark of a lazy writer. That you want every pair of blue eyes to resemble a summer sky, every heart to race like a locomotive. But I also know it’s not your fault. So you like to have characters with manes of hair who discover their husbands are leaving them for their mane-ier secretaries. Who am I to judge?
But I want you to know, I don’t care what the others say. I love you. I’ve loved you from the first time I saw you on Fantasy Island, and I watched you loyally in every After School Special, every Movie of the Week.
They said I’d outgrow you, that once I started writing in earnest that I’d come to see the error of your ways, and yet, I still crave you. Sue me! What’s so wrong with wanting a little predictable love triangle? What’s so awful about two strangers colliding in line at the grocery store only to find out they’re long-lost siblings? Good for them. About time, I say!
What’s so terrible about the familiar, anyway? Maybe sometimes eyes are as blue as a summer sky and maybe hearts do race like locomotives.
So I just wanted to write to say I think it’s entirely unfair the way you’ve been treated. And while I may have to use you sparingly in the future, please know I will always think fondly of you and the times we shared.
And I know in my heart you mean well.
Because there are no bad cliches. Only bad words.