Thursday, June 12, 2008


So tell her. Tell her she's your moon and stars. Fucking tell her you can't breathe without her. Tell her she is the reason you exist. Jesus, Patrick. Tell her everything.

All the sappy unoriginal things you feel for her, let her know. Sing one parody of a love song to another. Say things like you would do anything for her, do anything for love, do all the fucking things iditoic people in love do. You already gave her a hundred dollar flower arrangement, and that 5 thousand dollar signet on her necklace. Well, go do something even more inane like buy her a helicopter and fly her to the Bahamas and go parachuting down, down to the white sand beach.

Call her your Juliet, your muse, your inspiration. Call her Delilah who fucking weakened Samson. Call her all the sweet things you could think of and make her smile.

Tell her

the earth shakes



kiss her.

Tell her everything now, and not later, now, now. Speak Patrick, because if you don't the words will swallow you whole and it will puke you out into a sick world where you can only watch your true love sailing away, farther from your reach. It's a carnival of a life, where the freaks are by your side, and the gods you raised on pedestals mock you.

I would fucking know, love. I did not... could not... SPEAK.

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