Dear Terri,

I know the counselor said we shouldn't contact each other during
our "cooling off" period, but I couldn't wait anymore. The day you
left, I swore I'd never talk to you again. But that was just the
wounded little boy in me talking. Still, I never wanted to be the
first one to make contact. In my fantasies, it was always you who
would come crawling back to me. I guess my pride needed that.

But now I see that my pride's cost me a lot of things. I'm tired of
pretending I don't miss you. I don't care about looking bad
anymore. I don't care who makes the first move as long as one of us
does. Maybe it's time we let our hearts speak as loudly as our
hurt. And this is what my heart says... "There's no one like you,
Terri."

I look for you in the eyes and breasts of every woman I see, but
they're not you. They're not even close. Two weeks ago, I met this
girl at the Rainbow Room and brought her home with me. I don't say
this to hurt you, but just to illustrate the depth of my
desperation.

She was young, Terri, maybe 19, with one of those perfect bodies
that only youth and maybe a childhood spent ice skating can give
you. I mean, just a perfect body. Tits you wouldn't believe and an
ass like a tortoise shell. Every man's dream, right?

But as I sat on the couch getting a hellacious barney by this coed,
I thought, look at the stuff we've made important in our lives.
It's all so surface. What does a perfect body mean? Does it make
her better in bed? Well, in this case, yes. But you see what I'm
getting at? Does it make her a better person? Does she have a
better heart than my moderately attractive Terri? I doubt it. And
I'd never really thought of that before. I don't know, maybe I'm
just growing up a little.

Later, after I'd tossed her about a quart of throat yogurt, I found
myself thinking, "Why do I feel so drained and empty?" It wasn't
just her flawless technique or her slutty, shameless hunger, but
something else. Some niggling feeling of loss. Why did it feel so
incomplete? And then it hit me. It didn't feel the same because you
weren't there, Terri, to watch. Do you know what I mean? Nothing
feels the same without you, baby. Jesus, Terri, I'm just going
crazy without you. And everything I do just reminds me of you.

Do you remember Carol, that single mom we met at Second Baptist
Church? Well, she drops by last week with a pan of "lasagna." She
said she figured I wasn't eating right without a woman around. I
didn't know what she really meant till later, but that's not the
real story.

Anyway, we have a few glasses of wine and the next thing you know
we're f* king in our old bedroom. And this broad's a total monster
in the sack. She's giving me everything, you know like a real woman
does when she's not hung up about God and her career and whether
the kids can hear us. And all of a sudden she spots that tilting
mirror on your grandmother's old vanity. So she puts it on the
floor and we straddle it, right, so we can watch ourselves. And
it's totally hot, but it makes me sad too. 'Cause I can't help
thinking, "Why didn't Terri ever put the mirror on the floor? We've
had this old vanity for what, 14 years, and we never used it as a
sex aid." (Some of this I thought about later.) You know what I
mean?

What happened to our spontaneity? You get so caught up in the
routine of a marriage and you just lose sight of each other. And
then you lose yourself. That's the saddest part of all for me.

But I keep thinking we can get it back. I know we can, because I
only want this stuff with you. Saturday, your sister drops by with
my copy of the restraining order. I mean, Shannon's just a kid and
all, but she's got a pretty good head on her shoulders. She's been
a real friend to me during this painful time. She's given me lots
of good counsel about you and about women in general. (She's
pulling for us to get back together, Terri. She really is.)

So we're drinking in the hot tub and talking about happier times.
Here's this hot girl with the same DNA as you (although, let's face
it, she got an extra helping of the sexy gene) and all I can do is
think of how much she looks like you when you were 18. And that
just about makes me cry.

And then it turns out Shannon's really into the whole anal thing
and that gets me to thinking about how many times I pressured you
about trying it and how that probably fuelled some of the
bitterness between us. But do you see how even then, when I'm
thrusting inside the steaming hot Dutch oven of your sister's
cinnamon ring, all I can do is think of you? It's true, baby. In
your heart you know it.

Don't you think we could start over? Just wipe out all the
grievances and start fresh? I think we can. I keep thinking that I
think if you'd just try it, I wouldn't have to pressure you so
much. Because who needs all that bitterness, Terri? It just tears
us apart. And I can't be apart from you.

Because I love you, God help me but I do, please say yes.

Love,
Me
xo