I think I spent this whole summer reading. Reading and fantasizing and picturing and imagining so much that I forgot how it feels to put down my own thoughts to paper. Or text box, if you will. It feels like coming out of a months-long daydream, lifting my head from under the waves, dropping down from out of the clouds
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And living vicariously is highly underrated. As a regular vicarious liver (I'm an organ now; might've forgot to tell you about that surgery) I find no fault with your preference to living through other people.
You're one of the best writers I know. Of COURSE you can write, silly goon. I have teh faith. (Well not really: faith isn't my thing. But I've got teh knowledge, and that's more useful anyway.)
Love ya Cool Kid!
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