Dear Zooey Deschanel,
This is horrible. I mean it's horrible. I mean it's stupid enough you have to have your personal life all wrung out in public, tabloid quipsters slinging quaint phrases such as "splitsville" - this was LOVE at stake for you, it once was! Don't they fucking know what it's like? I have no idea, certainly none about what it's like for you, and I wouldn't believe the reports if I read them, believe you me. But I've been lucky enough in this life to know how much of love is my business, and how little business of anyone else's is one's love. The sole exception to that is: the other one. Anyone else can butt the fuck out of it; can butt and should have butted. Dear Zooey Deschanel, I have no idea if this is a desolate time for you, or a time of quiet resignation between two who tried, but had to be honest about hard facts. Compatibility, as they say, is a motherfucker - but baby when it works, oh, what a motherfucker it is.
Unfortunately, sometimes obstacles are the even bigger motherfucker. I am not prepared to speak to your details, and I'd be ashamed if I was. It is your story.
All people talk about your eyes. If you ask me, that whole "eyes are the windows to the soul" deal is overrated. When I look in your eyes, in moving pictures, in pictures only, never once direct and deeply into them - but I don't see your soul. And some say the camera itself captures and imprisons the soul. If this window theory had a thing to it, you'd think I could see yours. I don't buy the window theory. It seems shallow and venial, somehow, to me. To expect or believe you can catch a glimpse of such universal and intimate human space with one's eyes, even looking into another's. Because if anyone's were ever clear enough! Yours, those are just the most beautiful eyes, in the eyes of many, and celebrated in as many voices. To tell the truth, whatever's behind those blue windows is inscrutable to me. Mysterious, and just a bit thrilling because I'll level with you woman, it's kind of hard to tell when or whether you're putting someone on! You've got that whole cute, earnest but "am I secretly being sarcastic," thing going on? And people talk about your EYES.
I want to talk about your LIPS. But I won't. FUCK! Not at a time such as this. Ashame myself!
I want to talk about your hips, your hair, your smile, your arms - your so many loveliest and ordinary aspects, your so many lovelier and extraordinary ones! All that you are dovetails, doubling back upon itself inextricably in a web of mingled woven light beams and silk, or something similar. I won't have my chance to talk about any of that, or to ever know any of you in passing to the point where my view of you could be worth saying aloud. Words do not fail me, it's simply knowledge and understanding that fail. Your mind is a stained glass candy cathedral with rather sacrilegious, or at the very least irreverent windows. Your body is - what call do I have to say? Your body is the living embodiment of no ideal, but of what you might call an archetype. A lot of people might say: Eve. Not the ideal woman, no: the primal woman. Natural as that, and as close as we'll know of such a living myth, in this age - or so say a lot of people at least. Seriously, they do! Not to your face I am sure, and perhaps not in those exact words, but damn it that's what's being meant.
Zooey, do you know that you have, for a lot of guys, become the archetype of woman mysterious and desirable? And they talk about your EYES!
Well, your eyes are beautiful. Damn your eyes. Damn them straight to heaven. If they tell me that is where your eyes are windows to, I will at least suspend my skepticism for as long as it takes to look into it.
Anyway. It's bullshit all these media types celebrating the celebrity of the downfall of what I know you once knew was love. Where do they get off? And here I am, at best, contributing to it. At worst, I don't even know.
And I have no call to give you advice, but I will.
Don't let them win.
Don't ever learn to look on love so cheaply as their cheap hearts and cheaper commentary would make its worth seem. Don't learn lessons, unless in learning and practice, they make you better. In your own eyes.
I'm a pretty big fan of your acting.
Anyway! That's about it from me.