Jesus.
The cheese in here is so thick my knife can't cut through it. I can't help it. I told you I was a total cheeseball. I'm gonna dial it back some, though. I'm getting too extra in here and I don't want to overwhelm you.
I don't think you're easily overwhelmed but this may be a bit much. I have a tendency to overshare.
So anyway. How's your day? What are you working on now?
Blah.
I know you don't want to make small talk. We never did.
But there's just this echo in here now and I'm tired of the sound of my own voice.
It's Friday. Which means absolutely nothing. I'm having my hair done again but I'm not going camping the day after this time. I wish it were November 1st again and I was going camping. That's when you got sick, though. Nope. I don't wish that then. I wish it were early afternoon on November 21st forever and you were still telling me you hoped you'd 'make me laugh very hard for a very long time.'
But it's not. It's December 13th and that makes it a total of way too many days without talking to you.
Should I stop writing to you here? If this goes on much longer you're going to realize how lame I actually am (assuming you haven't already). But that's ok! I am lame. So, so lame. Lamer than lame. Fucking Lame with a capital L. But I'm kinda fun too and...other stuff that I can't think of right now. I'm also flawed and ridiculous at times. I'm brain-dead, half-dead, un-wed. Ha. All true. I'll recount for you, in verse if you wish, all the ways in which I suck if it will make you feel better. And I don't mean 'suck' as in your nether regions. Although, I can recite those too. Again, only if it would make you feel better. Obviously.
I think you are still at the bottom of that canyon and I want to come, too. You don't belong down there but I don't think you can see any light from where you're sitting. I wish you could see this flashlight I keep waving towards you.
I'll be here when you get ready to climb out. And then you'll pick up all the pieces of my heart and glue them all back together exactly as they should be and then you'll carry me over there behind that giant boulder and push yourself as deep into me as that canyon I'm never letting you fall into again.
Then we're going to walk home, my hand in yours.
P.S. I'm sorry, I can't help it. You make me weepy and sappy and full of all the good feels. I'll try harder to not be so soft next time.
Here, let's see if this doesn't create some balance.
Turns out that was just as corny, really. I guess no one is immune to matters of the heart.
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