Disclaimers: This one is a little different, but then so are Clark and Lex. I don't own any of the characters, or the actors who portray them (and aren't they grateful for that). Sort of a future-fic.

I'm writing you now, to tell you something I haven't been able to say in person. Somehow, when I look up into your big blue/green/grey/yellow eyes, I forget myself. Why do you do this to me? Lift me in the air, show me how to soar, and then disappear. You never stick around to see if I'm all right. There's always another damn emergency.

I'm really not trying to be petty. I've been exceedingly tolerant about your lifestyle. I ignored the tights hanging over the shower bar. I dismissed your fondness for phone booths. Just what do you do in there, anyway? I even put up with your weirdo friends. Did you know that guy, Bruce (what's the deal on the rubber suit?) tried to get Jimmy to visit him in his basement lair? Boy, I wonder what that's all about.

You used to be my hero, but you're not the only game in town. When you made me call you "the Man of Steel...," well, that was just laughable. How would I even know, anymore? Every time I try for a bit of intimacy, you suddenly have a pressing need to see Lex, and you rush off. Don't you want me anymore?

It's not just the sex, and the way you leave all the time. You don't even try to put in your fair share at home. Do you not even see all the clothes you leave on the floor? Your X-ray vision only works when you want it to. And no, there is no kryptonite in the laundry bin. That excuse doesn't fly with me.

I even put up with your frequent mood changes. One minute you're doing that lost puppy thing, the next you're sweeping me off my feet. I just can't take it anymore. I wish you would just be real.

Look, I'm not a heartless bitch, but I wish I could at least be near the top of your list. It's not your job to save the world single-handedly. There are always going to be wrongs that need righting, speeding bullets, trains derailing. Sometimes, you just have to face the problem at home.

I wish we could talk about this, but every time things get shaky, you hole up in that ice cave of yours. Do you find answers there. amongst all the crystals? It's like you hear your father's voice, and you won't even listen to mine. It's always "Jor-El says this, Jor-El says that." Jor-El is dead. Even if he weren't, he'd probably be some crazy old actor type, gone to seed, living on an island, and nattering on about how he could've been a contender. Not that Jonathan is much better. His platitudes make good journalists cringe.

I always thought I had a pretty good grasp of words, but you don't seem to be able to read me. So, I guess this is my 'bye line.

I remember when it was perfect. We ran faster, flew higher, our love was stronger than a locomotive. But those days are gone. I'm sorry. I just can't do this anymore. I bear you no ill will. I hope you have a super life.

Lois