Monday, September 17, 2007

Tin. Hey. Look. You're important to me.

Believe it or don't that I love you; decide that it does or does not matter; you're important to me. I can't stand that we're not talking.

I've wronged you, yes. I'm sorry, definitely. But please, at least talk to me.

You're one of my few best friends, trysts, mixed signals and fouled expectations notwithstanding. I need you not because I need to play someone or otherwise screw him up.

I need you for you.

People can't spend that kind of time together and not be marked by it in some way. I don't care that what happened to us was a freak accident; IT DOESN'T MATTER. It hasn't mattered since the night I called you Baby and I threatened to pluck out ***s nosehairs if he got absent and made you go to work early.

I don't care that we were a freak accident. I feel stupid for fighting it all that time.
That you cared for me was the best accident to ever happen to me in a long time.

Please talk to me

I love you

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