It's still early evening. I want to write, but can't seem to get words down on paper for the stuff I want to be writing. Watching the second episode of Top Chef: Just Desserts made me crave margaritas. I have margarita mix, ice, and tequila. And I don't have to be anywhere until 10 tomorrow
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I ain't never been too good at this writing stuff. Like most of the newsies, I never got what you'd call a formal education. Of course you probably figured that out already, but I'm trying to be more honest these days. Very few people know who I really am, and I want you to know me better than anyone. Even if it means you might not like me too much afterward.
You're a good guy, Davey, and half the time I don't think I got a right to even know you, much less be your friend. Other times I can't imagine where I'd be without you -- Santa Fe, probably, but not with any real amount of happiness. Underneath it all, I just want you to know how much it matters to me that you've been my friend, even when I wasn't much of a friend in return.
All my best,
Jack
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I'm noticing a trend in these letters not coming from the more emotionally stable member of a pairing...
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(this is iambickilometer, by the way; I just can't be arsed to sign in)
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I shouldn't have started the letter like that. You'll take it literally, and I don't mean it that way. I save my hate for the people that deserve it, like Stryfe and Cameron Hodge. And I don't even dislike you. I... oh, what the hell. I love you.
But you can be a real pain in the ass.
And no, not in the good way. Though you're that, too. I'm comfortable enough with myself to admit it.
But that's the thing. I'm comfortable with myself. I know who I am and what I like, and I know how I feel about you. I don't know if I'd shout it from the rooftops, because I don't have a real good history when it comes to shouting. Or rooftops. But I'd like to introduce you as my boyfriend. I'd like to be proud of that. And you make that kind of impossible ( ... )
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