Dear Chrysanthemum,
As your loving boyfriend, it’s been my unique privilege to take pictures of you in different outfits for your blog. Your wish has always been my command. When we met, I had a career in finance. I wore a suit, but over the past blissful three years, “Self-Reflection and Mini-Muffins,” has become my life. Now I must resign.
You may have seen this day coming. You might have thought to yourself, when you were cutting me out of your selfies, “He should find something of his own to do (doubtful), or he’ll be shooting my nail art from every angle until we’re 70.” It’s this I’m putting my money on.
Yesterday, when I was painting a mural of your favorite moments in your home office, I thought about my tenure at “Self-Reflection and Mini-Muffins.” I rejoiced with you, when your readership spiked to astronomical numbers. I waved sparklers and drank pink champagne when we found you were going to design your own collection applying all your previous fashion design experience (none). When you woke me up to see the pictures of you modeling for that brand, I acted like it was the coming of Christ. When your tips on how to flat iron your hair went viral, I posed as eight different people online clamoring for more. When you cut your hair, even I shed a tear, like all your commenters wrote they did. I understood when you would tweet to your mini, mini muffins when we were in a loving embrace.
But last night, I went out with my friends while you at the shopping event. Yes, I have my own friends. They weren’t as interested in the area I now have embarrassing knowledge in: tulip skirts.
It’s not that I didn’t enjoy taking pictures of the spiders you spray painted to make your own jewelry. It was fulfilling, but now I’m going back to the business world. I need my own life. Even though you make more money than I ever could. I’m so proud of your success. Here is that task bulletin board you made for me. You can have it back. I’m moving on.
The orange light in the afternoon is best when you’re wearing neon paisley.
Signed,
Still your boyfriend, no longer your photographer.
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