The adding of “I ain’t mad at you” is just so fucking cornball…
idk he called me the other day, but I didn’t pick up, or call back. I don’t unless you leave a message.
Edward! Goddamn it. I try to bury this part of me under a mask of scientific knowledge and analysis, but I really wish I kept the prose letters he wrote me. At fucking 23-24, I didn’t give a fuck about your art… all I would do is go to sheepshead with him to sell his foodstamps, and get drugs.
I was not trying to analyze your drug fueled ramblings. I know mad writers do drugs and ramble… but they write it down, and show people the polished product, like Francois said under the comment.
Francois might be bipolar, and completely out of his mind, but he was smart. I wish he wasn’t so ill.
Ed did get me pregnant. Like twice… I think. Shows how much we grow.