Dear Lola,
I heard somewhere that writing letters is good for the soul. It’s a lesson that I always wanted to learn.
I think of you somewhere out there.
(Watching from the shadows.)
And I can’t wait for my White Knight to rush in and save the day.
And I don’t know what I really want. Companionship? Personal Patreonage? Love? It’s like the rest of the world is speaking a different language. One full of meanings that ask impossible things of me — requiring me to feel emotions that I don’t feel.
I am a shallow bowl. A saucer.
I’m searching for someone to fill me up.
