you’re a special person. i’ve loved you for five years and didn’t figure it out until the world exploded. you told me you felt inadequate–you wrote a film about it. you’re not. you’re better than most. i’m never going to be someone that you love, not like you’ve loved my friends, and that’s fine. i’m okay with it. but i want you to realize that you’re good enough, you know? see you when i see you next. maybe a few years from now.
