Introductions have become difficult around you, sweetheart. You say I'm your friend; people always look confused to hear it. Everyone else introduces me as your girlfriend.
Your lifelong friend has won my admiration that way. He was having none of your shit.
"How are you related?"
"I'm-"
"She's his girlfriend."
"She's my friend."
"Yeah? Well they're awfully boyfriendy-girlfriendy."
I already like your friends-they're great guys. I can even tell the twins apart. And it's one thing to think to myself that you're going through something weird, but to hear someone who has known you for twenty years call you out in the middle of a crowd gave me a little more confidence.
While I was waiting for you, I was trying to find a blank page in your notebook. Instead, I found something you had written. "It's like we're back at the beginning of The Hairy Ape, when nothing was certain but our confidence". I don't know when you wrote that-you've had that notebook for at least a year- but sweetheart, you're wrong. I was more certain than you knew. I was already certain I loved you. That play was for you, every bit of it. I wanted to tell you I loved you, by creating beauty around you.
Now, I've let go of beauty, but I still want to create with you. A home, a life, a love that people tell stories about.
And we've already got a start on that, sweetheart.
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