What we shared was special. I’ll be the last to deny it. Stolen moments on the set of Australia, dusty motorcycle rides across the outback, my cameo in The Prestige (as Michael Caine), shadowy nights when we rambled through the forests, howling at the moon and tattooing each other with our adamantine claws…magical.
And I loved the long talks we had about our future: our plans for three boys (Hugh-y, Dewey, and Louie), our business model for automatically regenerating skin, taking peyote and convincing ourselves that our entire skeletons were coated with adamantine (jumping off Pico de Orizaba wasn’t the greatest idea–good thing your private helicopter was there to save us! Getting caught in the blades was a bit painful, though. Can you believe that was also the day I was test-driving our regenerating skin? We’ve always had the Fates on our side!).
But then came the not-so-good parts. The awkward insistence that your children call me “Salvador Dali” (because your love for me was “surreal in its beauty”? Sweet…but odd, darling, very odd), the constant harassment from the paparazzi, being contacted by John Travolta with the mysterious text “leave m boytoy alne.” The nights when you refused to take off your adamantine claws. The time you chased me around Times Square with a bottle of Coca-Cola, screaming the ingredients in a high-pitched wail: “Carbonated water! High-fructose corn syrup! Caffeine! Cocaine! Phosphoric acid! Natural flavorings!” I mean, WHAT WAS THAT ABOUT?
Then I broke up with you. You took it well–until the late night phone calls, incessant “oh I was in the neighborhood” visits, and steady stream of homemade baked goods left on my doorstep after midnight began. Soon, I was forced to invent a new persona for myself, “Kim Kardashian.” That worked for a while, until my fictional identity became inconceivably popular and I got locked into a reality show and a perfume deal. UGH!
So here I am, caught between two lives, unable to escape the curvaceous clutches of my alter-ego, unable to venture out as myself for fear of having you throw yourself at my feet…again. It’s been hard, Hugh, really hard. Please, darling, honor what we once had… and let me go.