Dearest Lucy,

Many lonely nights have befallen me since your departure last spring. I’m sure that this has been tough for you too, and that it is unfair to bequeath to you the burden of my sagging love, but bequeath I must. So here it goes:

I’m missin’ on you, girl. Hard.

I miss your scaly butt. I miss the way you use your extended tail as a counterbalance for your elegant 4-foot-long neck. But most of all, I miss the way you use your gigantic diaphragm to emit a series of low, rumbling noises to other members of your herd in times of danger or heightened stress. And your laugh.

You should be lying here with me, instead of fighting in Macedonia as part of an all-female squadron of dinosaurs sent to destroy our hated enemy, the Persians. I never asked you to go. Well, except for that one time when I did ask you to go. But it was only because I love you…and really, really hate Persians.

You’re probably wondering what to make of all this. Look at me—I’m just a down-on-his-luck guy declaring his love for an adorable, eccentric and 16-foot-tall dinosaur. It almost doesn’t make sense. Which leads me to what I really want to say, Lucy:

Love doesn’t make sense. You and I should know that better than anybody else. Remember that time I took you down to the river, and let you feed on small, amphibious mammals? Or that time I offered you a Tic-Tac, but the smell of the processed sugar made you so enraged that you accidentally punched a hole through the top of my car? Those memories are like the stars that make up the constellation of our forbidden love.

I know that our paths will cross again, Lucy. Give me a second chance. Anything else would just be…cold-blooded.

Forever yours,
Dinophiliacz 4 lyfe,
Peace up A town down,

Willy