Drafts monologue

DRAFTS

INT: A BEDROOM

RYAN, a lovelorn young man of nineteen, is sitting on his bed with his laptop, typing up a draft email to his ex-girlfriend.

RYAN

(Saying it aloud as he types it)

Dear…Janelle…

(Narrows his eyes and deletes the last word)

Dear…Cocoabunny…Thanks for the email last week; sorry I never responded to it. Or to the other couple over the last few months. I guess hearing from you is still too hard. If we can't be together, I'm not sure being friends is even worth it.

(Makes a face and quickly deletes that)

Being without you is hard enough without seeing you all happy without me. I'm miserable and you're just fine, and you'd like to, what, rub it in my face? I wish you knew what this felt like. It feels like I've been torn in half. It feels like someone took part of me away. It feels like I've been through a divorce or someone died. But, no. Apparently it wasn't hard for you. I guess I don't merit the same mourning period that you do for me. You're fine.

(Sits and stews on that one for a solid minute)

I know what you're going to say, by the way. You're going to say, "Why do you want me to feel bad? I want you to feel good!" Well, that kind of B.S. makes me want to chew tinfoil till my teeth pick up AM radio.

(Thinks about that, concerned that he's gotten too angry and accusing)

I just, god, I just love you so much. Still. Always. I'm sure Stanford's great and all, but I bet it can't make peanut butter blossoms the way you like them. Or harmonize with you on Simon and Garfunkel songs. Or help you bathe your cat so you don't get all scratched up. I miss you every day, Nelle. I feel like, if we could just back to how we were before graduation, my life would make sense again. I miss you every single day. How can you not get that? I just don't understand how I'm the only one who feels this way. I don't understand why I feel so alone and you just…don't.

(Looks at it helplessly, with nothing else to say)

Anyway, happy birthday. Love, Ryan.

(Looks it over. Hits delete.)