Dear Bigfoot,

I am writing to inform you that I think we need to go our separate ways. I know this is probably going to be hard for you to take. I wanted to do this in person, but how could I? You won't even let me see you. It's like you're not even in this relationship. We just aren't working out anymore, you know?

We used to be so close, you and I. I remember all those nights l'd stay up late watching Leonard Nemoy-narrated specials on you. I've spent countless hours reading eye-witness accounts of people who have seen you, sometimes in books, but mostly on the internet. Did I ever tell you about the dream I had about you? Oh, it's embarrassing to even bring up, but, here goes. When I was eleven, I dreamt there was only one of you left in the world. The scientists, very staunch and proper in their long white lab coats, had tracked me down, knowing that I was the world's foremost cryptozoologist, and asked me if I would make the ultimate sacrifice for my country. That sacrifice would mean taking one for the team and incubating the next generation of Sasquatches. Those were good times.

Remember when we first met? I used to be afraid of you. I'd picture you lurking outside my window, bloodthirsty and on the prowl... but once l got to know you, I knew you were more than just a monster. It was love from then on.

But now, things have changed. Our relationship just isn't the same now. I know I said a lot of things, but baby, I just can't take the pressure anymore. I can't handle one more argument with armchair skeptics about why your bones have never been found or how you can possibly migrate without being discovered. I've had it.

For years I've been fighting for you tirelessly, but what have you really done for me? I was really hurt when another glimmer of hope for your coming out was shattered. I'm sure you heard about it. A few rednecks put a gorilla suit in a freezer and claimed they'd found your lifeless corpse. I tried not to get my hopes up too much, but you know me... I couldn't help myself. You're never going to change, and you know it. You're never going to come out, so I’ve just got to move on. How can I make a living off of cryptozoology when you can't even make a public appearance? Our career goals are just too different.

Maybe all those people who said we'd never work were right. I'm twenty years old now. It's time to shut down all my naive beliefs and become crabby and cynical. I need to grow up. That means there's no more time for fun. The times we had were so much fun, but baby, I need commitment, not fun. Being mature is about believing in the facts and cold hard reality. You just don't fit into that equation. I've changed, but you're still the same. I could see myself with someone like the giant squid. He's actually been discovered. He's been to museums and has even been photographed live.

If it makes you feel any better, I told the same thing to Nessie. She didn't take it well, but what could I say? I'm even starting to doubt my faith in La Chupacabra and the Jersey Devil. I wish it didn't have to be this way, I seriously do, but I can't keep living a lie, and that's why I just got to let you go. You've got your mythical seclusion thing going on, and I want people to take me seriously and not think I'm insane. Maybe we'll meet again sometime, when things are different and people accept us, but until then, it's best that we see other people.

Regretfully Yours,

Krystle