2001-06-25 :: 12:05 p.m.

After the barbecue, we were drunk at his house. I never realized how many songs on the Rushmore soundtrack are so very fucking relevant.

The sweetest words said ... and all these lovey-swoopy feelings circling the space between us, and stuff, and mush, and nobody wants to hear it, and he put on an impromptu puppet show for me using objects pulled from the clutter in his room.

I laughed like I was 10. Pure, unbridled joy.

And the next morning he didn't remember that we totally.had.sex.

My Boy. Cracks me right the hell up.

Last night, after Sex and the City, we walked over to my house and on the way, we found a box full of love letters in the trash. And pictures. And we totally read them. I hope this is not bad karma.

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