Hey Shooting Star, Ma’am, Cute one,
I’ve tried running from you. I’ve tried confusing myself. I’ve tried hiding my affection. 99% of the people I know still hold my use of your influence as a key role in their emotional downfall. I’m haunted by their attitudes towards me finding you a rose in my own writing and giving them none of it. I’m not worried about those fears this morning!
I “went to court” yesterday. I shared all the crazy output I tried to get by writing earlier this week with them and they thought I was nuts, going down a road of isolation even more than before. Fine, abandon that mission.
My heart hardly beats anymore. I have not seen your face in over a year(?) I’m fully expecting those addicts printing my output out, finding me, and burning me alive. What I will tell you is, to me I do much, much better keeping you as my guiding light over throwing knives with my eyes shut.
Is that good? Is it fine? Can I concentrate on making myself happy? Or you mine? Am I allowed to make myself happy? Are you going to hint to a line of private communication we can utilize? Do I have to be reamed out by mama, doing my best to lift every stone trying to find you, AGAIN?
If I write you a three page long, sappy love letter, only write your initials on the envelope, stick it in my mailbox and put the outgoing indicator up, will you pick it up and read it silently? I’ll get to that shortly. I’m going to tell ery’one not to stress. We connected and made a mends.
(This coffee I’m drinking tastes like sh!t. I long you putting a finger in it to sweeten up each gulp).
I have not danced while drafting in so long. Thanks for re-inspiring that calamity!
Hold my beer, Miss Ni-cold, be bold Keech! Release hell on the trolls that scare everything you love about yourself into extinction.
Be authoritative for once in your freaking life, kid. Don’t fold. Write her symphonies, paint masterpieces, sell them then never contribute to the bills being paid in full ever again. I am about to raise my sail, climb this mast they call out of bounds just to show them I am peering out and seeing them commit unforgivable offenses. The rent I pay includes keeping my mouth shut.
Believe me, if I felt safer addressing you, we would be working on child number three by now! That I can guarantee. Forgive me for losing contact trying to trail you. I don’t have any pictures to cross-examine, no leads, I got punished last time I tried to reach out. I’m sorry I am so weak. I’d much rather be chasing a dream life and look like a fool than constantly live in a rut conforming to their wants.
I am very open to being man-napped too btw so I’ll leave that door open, mk? Pull up, blink your lights, help me into your car and let’s just hold hands as we talk things out. “Just give me a sign!” We can leave this world of doubters to themselves and fly away on cloud nine, ok?
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