Dear Sir,

How are you?

I don't know. Maybe it's the lack of sleep talking.

...But I found myself thinking of you.

I'm sorry about what I said. You know me... I never really actually mean what I say. And even when I do, more often than not, I change my mind faster than you can blink.

I'm impulsive. Way too impulsive. Which is actually a good thing, sometimes... But oftentimes, it gets me into a lot more trouble than I would want to be in.

I'm full of shit. You know that. I like to bluff my way around trying to see how far it'll get me. ...Waiting for someone to stop me, call my bluff, get my attention and tell me that I'm full of shit.

I don't have all the answers. I like to pretend that I do, because it makes me feel better. Somewhat normal... But in reality I'm just crazy, what can I say? I'm messed up.

Can we talk about this?

I mean I probably won't be able to converse too well, because I don't even remember what this was about, do you? I know my memory span isn't that great, but this really feels like another lifetime ago...

And I really can't promise that it'll be good or that I would be good.

...I can only hope that it will be better.

That's the best that I can do...


As Always,
D.