A letter received by an enlisted man from his girlfriend or wife back home who promised to wait for him. The letter usually goes something like this:

Dear John,

     Blah blah blah blah... It breaks my heart to tell you
this... blah blah blah blah blah I met a nice man named
Carlos at the church picnic a few months ago... blah
blah blah blah... we've fallen in love... blah blah blah
blah... I'm sorry but I just couldn't wait for you... blah 
blah blah blah.

     - Mary
These letters usually don't contain the lines "I'm a callous bitch" or "I needed what I needed when I needed it", probably because such statements would be redundant. The "Dear John" Letter was much more prevalent and more sinister during wartime, when soldiers were unable to avoid conscription and could not return home during leave. There is an urban legend about the Dear John Letter, wherein Iraqis tried to play on soldiers' fears during Desert Storm, but instead came up with broadcasts like "While you are sitting in the desert, Bart Simpson is sleeping with your wives!"

The best way to combat a "Dear John" Letter is to collect pictures of the sisters, cousins, and girlfriends of other members of your platoon, squadron, etc., mix her picture in with them, and send them back home with a letter than reads:

Dear Mary,

     I forget which one is you.  Please remove your 
picture and send the rest back to me.  Thank you.

     - John

A Drabble


Thanks for your mail, but I thought I'd made myself clear last night. You and I are over. Through. Kaput. There is no more 'us'. Understand?

I'd like to say that it's been fun, and we can still be friends, but I never lie. All it has been is weird.

If you ever come near me again, I will call the police. No, scratch that, I'll simply resort to a large meat-cleaver.

Now, take your handcuffs, your chains, your whips, your mackerel, your cameras, and all your other kinks and perversions, and get out of my life forever.


The following is a letter that I am writing to one of my closest friends in the entire world. I find it appropriate that his name is John.

Dear John,

Frankly, I don't know what to say to you. I really don't, which is surprising... seeing as I'm the girl reputed to type term papers in a single fell swoop of the hand and to possess a wit quicker than a Who's Line comedian. I could be the typical girl and spout out some "let's just be friends" line, which is probably tantamount to running over your entrails with a Mack truck, and even more painful. But the truth is I do want to be friends... I just don't want you to believe that this is my subtle way of saying that I would never sleep with you or consider you in any romantic way. Do you want to know the truth? My footsteps quicken when I see you, my heart beats faster, my breathing deepens, my nether regions.. okay, you probably didn't want to know about that. Yet. But my feelings for you are definitely not limited to the platonic.

So, you must be wondering what the hell is wrong with me. The problem is that I don't know what's wrong with me- you're attractive in that bohemian bad guy way that I can detect within a fifty mile radius. You're smart and thoughtful and artistic. Essentially, you're my polar opposite (although our shared passion for sushi is NOT hurting your prospects with me in any way). And maybe that's the problem- I see what could be the biggest and most perfect decision of my life, and my strictly analytical mind begs to differ with what might be a (gasp!) spontaneous decision, something rather difficult for me to understand. Adults peg me as the "better" one because I just so happen to feel like humoring the educational system. But to hear you speak is to realize that all of my so called rational thoughts, all of my math and science and logic and reason, pales in comparison to possessing a deep passion and conviction for what you believe in.

I definitely see myself getting to know you in the future. I want to be your friend now, and I don't want to exclude the prospect of being with you, now or later. However, I've been through many relationships in the past year and realize that my emotions can be quite ephemeral; I tag feelings of love not because I love the person but because I simply love being in love. And I don't want to do that with you, I don't want to hurt you, I don't want to make you cry in a month. I want to wait and see, and if you think I am trying to lie to you or deceive you then that is fine, you are obviously not the man that I think you are now. I'm young, John, and the implications of what you are asking for are going to take me quite a while to consider. But know that I love you and will always be here, waiting to listen and appreciate the wonder that is you.



PTSD is an acronym
That cannot be seen on any film.
Not even the strongest MRI
Can begin to explain or tell us why
You've turned into the man you are
Since you returned from that Iraq war.

So I'm leaving and I'm taking Charlotte, too.
I cannot be sure exactly what you'll do
Now that you are this whole new you.

Once I'd have sworn you'd never raise your hand
To harm a fly; let alone a man.
Now I think that you could kill
Your entire family and at will.

Maybe one day science will find a way
To analyze the mind's decay.
But until then we'll be elsewhere.
Good luck, John. From your wife, Claire.

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.