Dear Mr. Sinatra...

Dear Sir,

I'm having a problem with your music.

I try to listen, I really do. I put you on for hours, in repeating loops of sweet lyrics and soothing melodies. Everybody sings your praises. They can't get enough.

But herein lies the problem: Your lyrics are too timeless. The words are too sincere. My insides get all twisted. I start to believe that I'm your "melancholy baby" and if I'm not careful, "people will say we're in love."

I know you can't help me... You're not even alive. But I had to say something.

I'm sure you understand.

Sincerely,

A Hopeful Romantic