First, I want to apologize for doing this in a letter instead of having a face-to-face conversation. That would have been my preference, but in my defense, you’re not the easiest guy to get ahold of. As a mid-level administrator in the Commissioner’s office, I do not have access to the keys to get into the lot where we keep the Bat signal. I guess I could’ve asked Commissioner Gordon for a favor, seeing as he was the one who introduced us last Christmas at the Gotham P.D.’s Annual Bachelor Auction.That night, I thought I’d end up going home with a decent buzz and a discounted copy of last year’s firemen calendar, but instead I left the party plastered and riding shotgun with the city’s most eligible vigilante crimefighter.
The thing is, this relationship just isn’t working out for me. We had some good times, you and I, especially at the beginning: glamorous cocktail parties with the city’s most elite, followed by kicking back with 40s in the Batcave, then breakfast in bed served by Alfred. It was a little weird how you insisted on keeping your mask on, but I got used to it. Relationships are all about compromise.
I guess that’s where things began to go wrong. I was willing to work with your hectic schedule–4 a.m. dates where I’d patiently wait for Alfred to stitch up a fresh gaping wound on your ribcage before we could begin our Netflix and Chill. And you’d never let me pick any of the new Marvel Universe shows that I really wanted to see, even though I patiently sat through every one of your viewing picks (hello, all 7 seasons of Gilmore Girls). After a while, it became clear to me that this was not an equal partnership. I was always there for you to hold you in my arms during your night terrors, to use my nails to untangle your rappelling cable, to listen to you vent about Superman being a sanctimonious nitpicker who’s always correcting your typos in the Justice League newsletter. And yet, you couldn’t make the time to go with me to Scarsdale for my sister’s engagement party, and you know how much I need a buffer when I visit my parents.
It’s hard to be in relationship with someone who holds so many secrets close to their chest. I respect that you are a private person, but come on, you obviously have HUGE trust issues. I didn’t tell you this before, but I have to confess something–I looked at your texts one night while you were in the bathroom. I wish that you felt safe enough in our relationship to talk about your vinyl catsuit fetish with me. I honestly would’ve been cool with it. Anyway, I’m sorry I invaded your privacy like that, but for future reference you really should use a passcode on your phone. For a guy whose secret lair requires a specific three-chord sequence on a piano in order to unlock a hidden door, that seems like a pretty big oversight.
I wish you the best, and I hope you find the happiness you deserve someday. Also, I’m really sorry about that time I got carsick in the Batmobile and threw up on your new floor mats. I’d Chase Quickpay you some money to replace them, but you never gave me your email address.