Walking on eggshells has never been my thing, and the thought of dying with words left trapped inside me is not the type of tragic irony that I’m into….
Here’s a love letter. Enjoy.
She doesn’t bore me, never wears thin on my nerves, and she’s good for me. Fuck, who am I kidding? She’s exactly what I need.
I quote Bukowski to woo her, while she quotes him to prove me wrong. I prefer my cognitive brain function to be fuelled with Adderall and caffeine, while she has a more holistic and natural approach.
I think I’m her favourite writer, though she seems to like other writers’ Instagram work a tad more than mine. Not sure if I should’ve admitted that…moving on.
Many people on the outside looking in don’t get us, and that’s okay. It's hard to feel the heat of a fire that burns inside while standing out in the cold.
Of all the quirks that make her special, the most important is this: somehow she gets me, and I get her, and in the end that’s all that matters.
It’s short and sweet, just like someone I know. You’re my favourite. No need to follow it with ‘fuck’, ‘shit’, ‘cock’, or ‘balls’.
- Jeff Moore