“It’s not the end of the world until the end of the world.” -Barack Obama to his daughters Malia and Sasha

My Angel,

Never one given to hyperbole or overdramatization, I won’t begin now in this most heartfelt letter. But when President Obama said, repeating what he had recently told his daughters, in his final press conference, “…it’s not the end of the world until the end of the world…,” I couldn’t help but internalize his words—not to mention the sorrow on his face.

I was quietly hoping he wasn’t being prescient, foreshadowing something ominous on the political horizon. As cool as he’s so known to be, he couldn’t possibly have given in to hyperbole either, right? I doubt it. Barack’s a sensible, God-fearing, family-loving man after all.

Unease, however, was written all over his face at that conference.

We all, if not most of us, realize we’re living in a diminished America. As soon as we conceived and then dropped the atom bombs on Nagasaki and Hiroshima, and other nations became nuclear-enabled, we were doomed. It would become only a matter of time.

Truth told, none of the mighty nations wants to perish; their peoples are as afraid of nuclear death as we Americans are. If they can avoid conflagration, they will. Except most other nations haven’t been living as good as we have for all these years. They likely feel they have less to lose.

The way I see it, Love? We have only two options: Coexist nonviolently in peace or end our existence by violent co-annihilation.

Sorta like a marriage. Marriages, relationships for that matter, rarely, very rarely, end amicably. It nearly always gets ugly at the end. I’m not sure what hurts more at the conclusion/dissolution: Realizing you really didn’t need the other for your own happiness or coming to grips and accepting the fact that we all need each other—such is the interdependence of life.

Now as it applies to you and me, I understand clearly that you don’t need me . . . for your survival, for validation of your womanhood, nor for your self-defined happiness.

And I don’t need you for largely the same reasons.

So, is that why it’s so damn good when we come together? We seem so delighted to be in the other’s midst that something as simple as breathing on one another (you in my arms of course) somehow sates our mutual thirst for romance. I guess I shouldn’t speak for you; you may feel differently. Though you never try to escape my embrace, now do you? (Lol)

This is what I suggest we do in light of the coming Third World War—God help us all: Come away with me for a spring picnic beneath my favorite sycamore tree over in Wildomar Meadow.

No, I’m not engaging in hyperbole. My romance is sensibly genuine and real.

I offer you the most lovingly peaceful coexistence you’ve ever experienced. I wanna pamper you, woman. You’ll be in my arms and we’ll be in God’s hands.

On Pamper-Her-Friday.

Will you come?

Forever your love,
Rg2

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Nothing can come, not even war, between us. -Rg2

© 2017 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®