Letter to a friend.

Dearest Melissa.
I appreciate that you consider me the "one and only" love of your life.
I know the feeling, I have felt the feeling, I have been through all that the feeling entails. I have felt the giddiness, the floating feeling of intoxication, the feeling of time suspended. And I have felt the withdrawal  aches as the it wears away and is slowly absorbed into the blood stream, converted into waste products and excreted.
Your willingness to enter into a "life long" legal contract with me on the basis of this feeling is flattering but I'm afraid impractical. The idea that we were "destined to be together" is a charming concept but is unrealistic to the point of psychopathy. "Living on love" is not a talent I've ever able to make work, nor can I imagine any possible mechanism by which the philosophy might play out in a real world situation. A situation, I might add that involves major legal, moral and monetary compromise. Actually, I can imagine such scenarios and they seldom end well.
As long as I'm on the subject, I might ask you to look into a dictionary an read carefully all the meanings of the word "love", a word which you seem to like to toss around a bit too casually as far as I'm concerned.
Love might find a way, but until it does we would need food, shelter, and a sensible retirement strategy.
Preparatory to this we would need a "job" or perhaps two.
Please do not interpret this to mean that I am not opposed to further relationship. On the contrary with a few years of serious discussion and examination of bona fides, a contract might possibly be drawn to benefit both of us.
By the way what was that perfume you were wearing Friday? It was wonderful.

Yours, Walter.