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Dude.
Dude.
Dude.
When you called me, I was finishing a frustration nap. I was so fucking scared and whatevered. I shouldn't have even picked up the phone when you rang -
in
retrospect.
I was all mad about how I can't get through to you. Nothing I do works. I feel like I have to act like the cool girl, and while I am super cool - I'm not that cool. I want to know if you like me. I'm sorry that gummy threw you for a loop for a day or two, and that you haven't yet unpacked your suitcase - but does that really mean I can't jump in a car and see you on a fucking Friday? really?
Do you not like me?
My entire being is on edge.
I'm questioning my existence. I'm knowing that you finally see me, and you're letting me down gently. I'm panicking. I'm the fucking baby deer in the fucking yard with it's momma ...
except I don't have a momma.
My mother just said "oh well" when her oldest son said "I have a gun to my head I feel so ashamed."
One day, she will die like Robert Redford just did, and I'll cry and it will be like with me and you - I'll have never gotten through that wall - and I"ll romanticize her like a mofo and know that she's super cool - but that something in me could never penetrate the egg.
Will you ever play catch with me again? Do I really have to write you with some gambit about books? Do we have to pretend that you don't like me? you do. Why can't you tell me.
Why do I never tell you.
Don't I always tell you? What does it mean when I buy you everything - when I wake up to make biscuits for you - when I squeal like a lassie when you call? I'm so obvious, it's embarrassing.
I knew from the moment I met you that you were different.
I'm too stunned to cry completely. I just topped off some of your tequila with soda and tried to drown my champion simmer sorrows.
I love you.
I don't know why. It doesn't make sense. Your'e definitely not perfect, and I can't talk to you very well anymore, but I love you.
Me wearing that stupid clearwater shirt like a fucking fool for the second day in a row to keep you near me. egads. What must you think. What do you think? I wish I knew all the time, but you're a motherfucking cipher to me. I love it and I hate it.
The usual.
Why did you call me? What were you trying to get? I touch the one ball I have left that you gave me and wonder where the fuck the other one went off too? did I pack it? I want you so badly it makes my skin itch. I'm going to drink again to your numbness and write you about a dumb book to see if you'll respond.
Without you, I don't want to play.
Bright are the stars that shine
Black is the sky.
I know this love of mine... I know nothing.
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