The Woes of Small Talk
I had a dream about you last night. In it, you were a butterfly and I was chasing you down the beach. Only, every time I tried to catch up with you, you flew away. I’m not really sure if it means anything, but it just made me sad.
As it is, the roof is still leaking in my room, and everything is rainy, cold, and damp. And the wind hardly ever lets up. It’s like I’m living inside a storm.
Oh, school. Anti-climactic at best. Mostly people just leave me alone because they don’t approve of my pink leg warmers or the fact that I can quote the Twilight Zone at length. That’s one thing I like and miss about you, Jude. You always got me. I hate all the small talk here. People are so boring.
I can’t wait for the summer. I also can’t wait to see you again.
My mother sends her regards.
Post. Script. Do something nice for somebody. Tell me about it in your next letter.