I feel like we're a pair of starlets talking to each other through the pages of the supermarket tabloids as if it were the late nineties. (Star, National Enquirer, Weekly World News, take your pick.) Instead of being read while picking up groceries, it's being read on phone screens across Rip City and the outlying areas and beaches. It's kind of cute, if you think about it. It hits like the queer rom-com Hollywood should've popped out years ago.
But enough of that. Since the holiday season is here and well, the season is rough for both of us, you can always message me if you want. If not, that's understandable. Our brief time in the sun didn't end well. And it's something I still feel guilty over.
Just know that I love you, and I will always love you. And if I have to wait until the next lifetime where we will inevitably cross paths to see, or talk to you again, I can do that too.
PS. Do you still have my peacock pumps?
PSS. Did you see Sinners yet? Y'all it's rad.