I realise this letter is long overdue; I hope you can overlook my failure to communicate sooner, but as you know I had to go overseas, and secondly, I didn’t wish to come across as overeager.
I remember the first time I saw you, sitting alone on the little balcony overlooking the stage. You were a striking figure in your simple black overalls. I was overjoyed when you finally accepted to meet with me last week. I now realise I might have been somewhat overdressed for the occasion in my glen-checked suit and overcoat, but I’ve been known to overdo it sometimes. To say I was not head over heels in love the minute I saw you would be an overt lie. It is by no means my intention to overwhelm you with my feelings, and the last thing I want is for you to think of me as some oversexed, overbearing weirdo. I rather you consider this as more of an overture to what could be a life of overabundant bliss. People say one should be careful not to overload a new lover with one’s emotions; but I say caution is overrated. My heart has been working overtime, and I’m too overwrought with feeling to think rationally. To ignore this love would be an oversight too overpowering to bear.
And so, my dear, I can’t help but wonder: is your heart also overflowing with tenderness? All I can do is hope that you’ve overcome your doubts about me, and that your refusal to stay overnight the other day was simply a sweet way of telling me it was yet too soon to overstep that boundary. I believe that we are overall perfect for each other, and that before long we will be relishing in the overtones of love.
All I ask of you is to please think it over.
To say I underestimated the effect our meeting would have on you, would be a gross understatement. And you most definitely underplayed the way you really felt about me. Of course, it is now clear to me why you went to such lengths to undermine Ms. Fletcher’s acting, only to give the part to me, her understudy. It also explains why suddenly the costume was changed to what can only be described as a collection of undergarments in which I felt most definitely underclad. And while I felt some sexual undertones in your interactions with me, I brushed them off as playful banter- it is the theatre after all! Your underlying intentions became clear when after our meeting you invited me to your place, for what I can only assume was spend some time under your sheets. I seriously doubt you underwent some magical transformation. This love you speak of leaves me greatly underwhelmed, and to be honest, I find your letter an underhanded way to try and manipulate me. To refer to me as your lover is preposterous, and just shows the extent of your underdeveloped emotional intelligence.
Given the present circumstances I much rather leave the production and risk underemployment, rather than have my skills undervalued by someone who is clearly undergoing some sort of midlife crisis.
Thus, let me underline the intent of my letter in words you can understand:
**written for /M/ The Anatomy of Melancholy