I find excuses for everything, specially to not go out even though I don’t really like to stay home alone. Why the fuck do I keep doing that? I should’ve gotten wasted with you and gazed at the stars laid down on your porch. And now when we will have a chance to finally do that? To talk about what broke me inside and what makes you happy. Don’t know how long we walked together, literally, and now I’m scared that I will not find someone to walk with me again. Is this weird combination that I am, cruel, crude, mean, and a little bit sad. You say I worry too much, but my dear, my life is falling apart and I’m not getting any younger. I like it when you say I always look good, it’s hard to look at you in the eyes because you can see beyond my flesh, and so, in a very silly way, I do get happy when you say I look good. I forgot to thank you before you left for your companionship and for the songs and for the cooking. I just hope you turn on your computer when you reach that could country of yours and read this.
I do have to thank you as well for introducing me to Jean Genet.
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