Bri, sweetheart, I am about to go to the most liberating and scary thing – go audition for drama schools. I have only dreamt of being set loose by the jaws of architecture and allowed the luxury to dabble in the art of drama. The reason I was short on the phone the other day was because I was so hurt that our conversations were your voice talking about three weeks, drugs, and a boy. When all I wanted to do was talk about ME. Me. ME. Me. And when you did ask about me, your response had to do with either food or Brandon.
As of right now, I do not care about drug boy or what sticks and bones eat – because I need you, I need your encouragement, I need your words – more so than needing them, I want them. I know what it feels like to be wrapped up in something or emotions and how they attack your tongue and that is all you can think, feel, and express – but I wish you could just feel my anxiety. I am scared. I am excited. I am petrified. I am pumped. I am ready.
To perform.
Your life means a lot to me and always will, but please dearest melting piece of irresistible cheese – step back from your sun centered life – and see what all that your words are veiling.
I know I could have picked up the phone and filled your ears with what I am feeling, but I like to write – my fingers have a lovely knack of maturely and dramatically expressing me, versus my candid temper-filled tongue.
And I have not been boiling with anger or resentment – I have been much too into Regan and Desdemona to allow my anger for you to pile up – I merely wanted the blog to express.
Love love love you
And love that you are back on the blog.
I missed sweet shits.
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