I don’t care anymore.

Hi Sarah. I want you to call.

The letter before this I didn’t have a big enough envelope to send in, so it should have come with that shit but it wouldn’t fit in anything.

I’m cussing because I’m fed up with not being able to talk to you when I want.

I guess I remember telling you in the letter before this that I got another job, it’s fun. They all like me.

I’ve gained weight. I don’t want you to see me like this (you, however, won’t care anyway, and it’s not that I’m fat now, just gained) but I’ll see you at the airport.

Now if I were a fucker I’d tell you that I don’t know if I’ll go to the airport, but that’s be stupid. Sorry, I felt like cussing again, very disappointed and very tired of nothing.

I’m sorry, I’ll stop cussing.

I’ve placed you in my wallet in Front of my license. Whenever I open it it surprises me. I smile when I see you.

I can’t wait to see you. I’m talking stupid talk, very stupid. I don’t know, I hate this. I think for a while –

You know, I’m hoping you got my last letters, ‘cause I didn’t put a return address on it and if you didn’t get it damn.

Back to it: For a while when you first left, up till about a week ago, I thought when you got back, well after that, I kind of I guess started liking you again, but not really, I think you may know what I mean, I guess just expectations of 7 years from now.

God how sad.

But I’m over it now. Back to not – it shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t anymore I guess. But I want to love you.

I don’t – I probably shouldn’t be writing this I guess.

Forget everything. I just can’t for you to see my smile again. I can’t wait to be myself again.

You know part of me is you. And that was missing this summer. And I don’t want it to go again.

Ah fuck it. I don’t know, I’m never poetic anymore.

I gained a speech impediment the other day. It sucks. Whenever I mess up I say (either) “Toy Boat” (5 times) and (or) “Sally sells sea shells by the sea shore”.

This is all bullshit though. I’m just trying to be coherent. Just come home soon. Juts got 17 more days. Good. I can work out a little. At least get to look like I did before you left.

You’re beautiful.

FUCK.

I can’t stand this Sarah. I have nothing to say. I wish I could sleep and become better. I sleep anyway, but no better.

Do you know that I’m downing on myself right now? I can’t talk and I can’t even write anymore. And I don’t wanna build you up in my mind anymore. As if nothing’s wrong, that you’re perfect, I mean you have these things that, I mean you get angry, that’s my fault, you have your faults, but over all I feel perfect about them.

So how is that building you up if you are perfect to me? So how do I stop building you up if I’m not building you up at all? I feel like telling myself that you suck. But you don’t. I mean, you’ve never even come close to a penis before.

(Sorry, I’m bad, joke-wise and as a fine, upstanding person.)

I love you. Curly hair, brown eyes, love handle, nice ass, thick thighs, smile that kills, hair that kills, everything kills. I wanna see you on your bad days again. I miss the bad. I need to see you more. I need you to be my close friend still. My best friend.

God. Please stop me. Please. I’m so fat. I’m sorry, I know you hate reading this. These kind of things. But you can stand it, I’m sure, I’m sure you’ll still like hearing from me, I want you to call me, I hope you don’t think we’ve run out of things to talk about, I hope that our last conversation didn’t make you not wanna talk to me. I hope that it was a good conversation. I hope I’m not an asshole without you.

I sort of feel like it though. You always kept me in order.

(And here I am, writing like you’re never coming back. But it’s bleak right now. )

Jon.