I remember the night you called me Billy Pilgrim. It was my birthday, and I was venting to you about my friend who blew me off. I didn’t know who Billy Pilgrim was so I googled it and got my answer. For anyone else I would’ve pretended like I knew the very relevant reference, but there’s just something about you I can’t get out of my head. This makes you being on the other side of the world that much harder. I wish I could tell you.
I’m probably as obvious as it gets and you either really know or really don’t.
I’ve only known love in the worst way, and otherwise I get bored when I’m dating people. I’m twenty years old, and I don’t know a whole lot, but I’m pretty sure of the fact that I want to be with you. You’re crass but it’s funny, you smoke, but I love the way the smell lingers on you. There’s nothing I want more than for it to linger in my own life. I don’t know how or why but your smile puts a smile on my face, especially on bad days.
It was when you called me Billy Pilgrim, it’s because you mow the lawn for the hell of it, it’s because of your completely obnoxious beard (which I hope you shave upon returning to America).
If it’s unrequited, what I feel, I’ll at least be happy knowing I felt something for someone in such a real way. I miss you, and I want for you to return, returning not only to this land but into my life. I have a sick optimism and so that’s whats keeping me going while you are gone.
As you can see, I’m still passive.
Avec mon coeur.