Dear Migraines,
I'm sorry that I can't reveal the truth of our relationship in person, but you never stick around long enough for me to make it perfectly clear, and to tell you the truth I'm never really in the right mindset to speak coherently when you do finally leave. So here goes. I'm going to be perfectly blunt.
I don't like you. I've never liked you. The only reason I put up with you in the first place is that my mother inadvertently introduced us, and you really don't seem to get the blatant clues that I actually dread your constant arrivals. Heck, my mother doesn't even like you-- she introduced you to me by pure accident. Every time you come around it seems as if a good chunk of my day is always shot to hell. I wish that you'd get the hint and never come within ten feet of me ever again, and this is me being polite. I think it's time for the both of us to move on with our lives. It'll be healthier for the both of us-- well, for me, anyway.
Please die in a fire don't take this personally,
Kaiya