The Hardest Letter to Write.

Dear Our Lady Peace,

I'm sorry, we have to break up.

This may come as a bit of a shock to you, since, after all, we've been together for 9 years. I still remember the first time I listened to Naveed on the tape deck in my father's Malibu so many years ago. It really felt like love at first sight. We were so happy back then, being together almost every day. I took the time to memorize all of the words to every song, even the ones that were really confusing to me and kinda weird. But hey, that's what you do when you're in love: you take the weird with the good, Dirty Walls inclusive.

The honeymoon lasted for several years, beyond the average lifespan of one's youthful puppy loves, and Clumsy entered our lives. Oh, the memories. Honestly, I was a little nervous at first, but it easily overcame the notion of a sophomore slump and blew me away again and again. It seemed as though the good times were here to stay.

A couple of years later, when you came out with Happiness... things got a little awkward between us for a bit. You let me down a little, but the album remained solid. Suddenly though, a little over a year later, our glass house began to crack. Spiritual Machines was little more than a whisper of a record. A barely audible squeal on the good album scale, shaking my trust and leading me to question where this whole relationship was headed. I still loved you, as was plainly obvious through my devotion, but doubts had begun to creep into my heart. Was our love meant to be?

To answer that previous question, you dropped a deuce called Gravity. What happened OLP? Ok, I'll admit you tried to strengthen our bond again with that slightly respectable Live album, but the final straw on this proverbial camel's back has just been placed.

Healthy In Paranoid Times? That could've described our love a few years ago, but I'm sorry to say that it is now dead. All of a sudden you're making music that sounds exactly like what everyone thinks an Our Lady Peace song should sound like. You know? It's like you've lost that certain genocide quack that was once front and center. I don't even know how to communicate with you anymore.

Seriously now, what's up with HIPT? I was under the impression that there were certain terms to our relationship. Terms that once read like this: You write good songs. You present these good songs in ways that make me love them. Slowly you've become the antithesis of everything you once were, and I can't handle that change. Personally, I place the blame squarely on the back of that damn Chantal Kreviazuk. What has she done to you Rain? And having that Avril Lavigne live with you? Good grief. They've poisoned the once youthful and beautiful wellspring of our love. You've been duped into some sort of angst-ridden Creed-like mentality that is just too much for me to handle anymore.

Now, I'm sure this seems rather sudden and quite unlike me and my generally fair and temperate demeanor, but I need you to know that this is not about me. It's about you. It's not that I hate you, don't get me wrong, I could never hate you. It's just that it's become painfully obvious to me that you are in a space right now where I don't belong. And of course, I'm willing to give you that space. I need to give you that space.

I'm sorry things have soured so. I'll look you up sometime in the future, maybe when I've had more time to digest this latest offering, but until then, stay safe and warm.

Love,

Daytona Splendor.