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The · same · but · only,

Letters I've been meaning to write...but only with more meaning.

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My dearest:

That girl's no good. You see, you're making heart cupcakes with the ground-up beatings of your viscera, and she's licking off the icing and feeding the best parts to the dog. She's pretending your carefully poured heart cakes make her happy and full, but, dearest, she's just not satisfied. I know it because I've lived it.
Don't let it sneak up on you, Doll. Because it's only a matter of time before you've left none of your poor pulsing organ to keep yourself alive.

Your friend Les.



These days, you've been sunshine and rock candies. Last night I was worried because of the time, and I only entertained those wretched thoughts of you and he (well, you know what I mean by "he") for a split moment because then I remembered the sugar on your lips and the tang from your skin, and I was awash in sleep and forgetting.
It's your fault I think, and it's your fault I get over, so let's call it even and jump around on the bed.

All my love.
Your Les.

P.S. Thank you for taking me bathing suit shopping without once wincing or crying wolf. You always make me feel pretty as the day I was born.

My very dear Sir:

I have a secret.
Imagine that.



Friend among friends:

I am happy for you.

Perennially insane but always your friend,
Current Mood:
amused Gee whiz.
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