I’m sorry, but in other, more interesting ways, I’m probably double-extra sorry.
You say “no” a lot. I’ve noticed this because I also say “no” a lot and also she tells me that I do that a lot.
Gotta say, dude, not our best feature.
You’re here, largely alone, and loving it, but some days are better than others and your ideas go from here directly to there on the other side, but in the middle of the other side away from everything else. You lose all context in translation, but the elements are all there and (broadly) convincing.
We can’t tell when you’re completely coherent or passing-thru, but you always seem to enjoy yourself and that’s nice. Thanks for everything.
You helped a kid grow up into the wonderful girl who thanked you kindly and put you in a box in my garage while she traveled the world and made money doing back-flips until one day she took you out and gave you to a new kid who loves you just the same, but also different than you thought.
I want to care and be a team player – I really do. But you’re three years too late. I don’t want to do this anymore; I can’t do this anymore; and soon enough I’ll have to put an end to it. It puzzles me deeply and sours my life.
There’s comfort in a full moon. It’s hard not to sound over-sentimental about them, but with the days as they are, it’s nice to have a nightlight.
Take any job, when it’s offered, if you desperately need it, but please, for G-d’s sake, don’t work here. Fake commerce, behind stolen capital, just a weird group of assholes rifling off LLCs, and never making a buck. Look anywhere else.
A year since your wedding and you’re moving, and we’re producing life, and everything is terrible, and how weird it is being years apart from those choir kids in a coffee shop.
I need your new address, thanks.
Okay, so. Look. I don’t know how to roughhouse, or shit-talk, or take a kick to the shins after a close loss; I never got the training. My brother and I did not play; we said nothing, for as long as possible, floating past each other’s bedroom doors until we had something good enough to fight about. The chairs thrown and righted; verbal abuses swept deep into the back; and a quiet stalemate would resume in the morning. Nothing changed.
I will not play football with you, I’m sorry. I don’t like being touched.