Dear open letters,
The first thing I'm going to ask you to do today is go find a mirror. Have you found one? Great. Now please sit yourself down in front of that mirror and take a good, long, hard look at yourself.
What do you see? Giant bags under your eyes? An all-around slackened, depressed, purplish look? Just as I suspected.
Let me explain. You, dear open letter, have terribly overworked yourself. I should know. I simply cannot scroll innocently through my Facebook feed without finding at least three of you lurking there, waiting, taunting me with your round "O" and sharply-angled "L."
For a while, dear open letter, I handled this like a real champ. I wrote open letters. I read them and enjoyed them. But then it became tolerance. And now, I must confess, when I see an open letter, I hold back a surge of vomit and keep scrolling so quickly my index and middle fingers feel like they might fly off.
According to Google, you, open letter, are "a letter, often critical, addressed to a particular person or group of people but intended for publication." So I guess, technically, you're right most of the time. An open letter to the mother of your boyfriend is technically an open letter, even though it is (I hope, for the sake of your relationship's future) not critical. So is an open letter to an ex-best friend, to high school seniors, to a boyfriend.
I should say, here, that I, too, have written open letters in the past. For example, "An Open Letter To Anyone Dealing With Depression." A letter? Check. Addressed to a particular person or group of people? Check. Intended for publication? Check.
I'm pretty sure that in that case, I used the whole concept of you correctly. But if I could turn back time, I swear I would change the headline so it didn't include you in it. You don't need that much of an ego boost. No wonder your reflection looks like a zombie. You need a break, man. You need to chill.
I mean, if it's a letter on the Internet, obviously it's an open letter. Do you really have to say it so explicitly? Also, can't we write something for someone without making it into some cheesy letter? Can't we just write?
How far must you take this, open letter, before you realize enough is enough? And what will be the final straw? An open letter to the cashier at register seven? An open letter to the ex-girlfriend's neighbor? An open letter to my grandma's cat's sister's baby daddy?
Open letter, if I come off as snarky to you, please know that I only partially mean it. After all, I, too, have used you. But too much of a good thing is real. So after you finish looking at your cold, almost-dead reflection, please take a step back and a long break. Enough is enough. It's time.
With love,
Emily
