Dear Ms. Pro,
I’d first like to begin this letter with an apology. I’m terribly sorry that I have not been around as of late. If it were my choice, I would be by your side every day, but alas, this cannot be. Are you distressed? Will you even pretend to weep for my departure?
Perhaps then you may be wondering why it is at all I have written you this letter. Forgive me for losing my way for a moment there, I will get into the heart of the matter, heart being the key word there I’m afraid.
Ms. Pro, I’ve fallen in love with you. No, I have loved you since the first moment we shared when I found you in the music aisle at Best Buy those years ago. I love music, and you play music. I felt a connection there, and not just the connection of you to my scalp, either. It felt deeper. Like my ear drums, maybe. Those are deep, right?
You played your music for me, and at first, you wanted me to listen to the most choice Rap and R&B, which I did, because I wanted you to know I was willing to learn. But I was such a beginner, a novice. I would not be swayed so easily, and I am ashamed. I pressed your buttons and made you play Rock instead. And I even made you play it louder by pressing the Volume Up button. You didn’t complain, you complied. As chauvinistic as it was, I think perhaps I fell in love with you all over again.
But your love would not be so easily won. In fact, it was not easily bought. Your love came with the steep asking price of four hundred dollars. I was not man enough to tell you how I felt then, so I bid you adieu, eager to return someday, when perhaps you were feeling less like a cheap floozy.
I’m sorry for such language, but I can be an angry man when I find the one I love in the arms… uhh… over the head of another. Yes, that’s right, I saw you, don’t think I didn’t! I made trips to Best Buy under the guise of purchasing any number of items, just simply to be with your for a moment again, for even if you would not love me without payment, you allowed me such sweet and tempting tastes. Those purchases I made when you saw me, they were for you!
But then, what was it I saw? Do you remember that day? No, I doubt you would, it was obviously not your first time. I was a fool to think as much. My god, you had yourself on display for the whole world to see! How could I not understand what you were?
It was midday, and I had just entered the store after a light brunch I had to settle the ever present butterflies in my stomach around you. And then I saw him. A young man, dressed slovenly, with unkempt hair brushing against you and his greasy fingers fondling you! I was outraged! Can you blame me? You knew of my love and yet you cared for it not! I absconded from that store and vowed to never return.
But of course, it was impossible to resist you. However, I was not without smoldering anger. I needed to prove to you that I was not to be lead around by you, I would not be toyed with. I didn’t need you, I told myself. That’s why, the next time you saw me, I entered the store with Ms. Rasta draped around my neck!
But you, with that air of superiority, never gave us a second glace. All my planning, ruined. My hopes, dashed. I felt foolish and ashamed. I fled from the store quickly and decided it would be best to never see you again. And for a good while, it was fine. Ms. Rasta and I, although our start was questionable, have sustained a fair and honest relationship, I am happy to say.
Yet, my thoughts would occasionally flit back to you. I could not help it. The love I felt for you was too strong. So after a long time, I went back to that store to find you, if for no other reason than to tell you how I feel. But when I saw you, I nearly wept. Your buttons had been pressed too many times, and you would no longer allow them to be pushed. You forever played R&B, without heed nor care for whoever your listener might have been that day. You even refused to play any louder or softer. Remembering who you were, and the path you chose, you still allowed yourself to be played, though. And perhaps impossibly hopeful, you told the world that you were not yet ruined or too far gone; your price tag was still absurdly high, despite the graffiti scrawled upon your body and the loose screw at your joints.
I left sad, unable to tell you anything of my feelings. Perhaps this is your true visage, and if so, I am glad I was not trapped within it. For now, I will stay with Ms. Rasta; she treats me very well. But I send you this letter so that I may tell you of my love, and that maybe, when you need a ray of hope the very most, I may one day come back and free you from your concubine.