By the time you read this, I'll be composing a concerto for 3 bassoons and a trombone.I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but seeing you without makeup made homosexuality suddenly seem very feasible to me.
I know this might seem like an omitted chapter from Dante´s Divine Comedyto you, seeing as we made all those plans to live together in happily unwedded bliss, or a reasonable facsimile, but I just don't see things working out that way.
I'm sorry about this — well, sort of, at least, kind of, maybe, a little...I just need to find someone who is male and breathes — and quickly.
I want to tell you that I think you are my repressed masculine side, but I don't think we're right for each other.First of all, we're not really compatible. You are a satanist,and I am into bodysurfing.You like stomping on turtles after eating mushrooms,painting your eyelids with pictures of eyeballs, andwriting love letters to Bob Saget,and I'm just not sure I can ever share your joy in those things.How can two people so different ever make it for the long haul? I think we should date everyone else in the world, just to find out the answer — or at least I should, you have no hope on that score.But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever someone asks me to define the word "retarded".
I'd really like us to become acquaintances,if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, at least during those many hours of drug and alcohol induced unconsciousness.
Take care of yourself and never forget that your psychiatrist thinks you're a jerk too.