I’m not sure how I’ll get this to you. Maybe I’ll just have to give it to you the next time I see you. You’ll probably laugh at me for writing you a letter like a fucking girl, but maybe you won’t because you’re French and weird.
It’s been awhile since you left. It sucks not being able to talk to you, none of the guys want to discuss anything besides the girls’ soccer team and whether or not Halle Berry is going to do another movie where she wears a skimpy leather outfit. Well, they are only seventeen, and they know I get bored with it so they do try (Stan and Kenny, anyways) but I like being able to talk politics with someone who knows who the Minister of Defense is.
The cat’s been well, she’s been getting along quite well with Ike and mom’s even taken a liking to her, which is good because I think the stupid fucking thing clawed up the drapes behind the couch the other day. Well, maybe mom won’t find them for a while. The stupid furball misses you a lot. I miss you a lot.
I wish you were alive so I could
I wish I could have kissed you before you
I wish you were back.