Dear Patrick
Letter Fifty-Two
June 28, 2014
Dear Lana,
It's true that history repeats itself. Here we are, back in that same room again. Except last time I was in the hospital bed and you were sitting in this uncomfortable-ass chair writing letters. Jesus Christ Lana. I can't do this anymore. I can't take this and all the pain. You're fucking killing me. Please, I'm begging with everything I have that you just wake up. You've been in a coma for about a week now. You were still awake when I finally got to you. And you kept asking me what happened. And you kept screaming at me and telling me not to hurt you. Why would I hurt you? You broke my heart, baby, you did. I swear you broke it when you told me that I was going to hurt you and to please leave you alone. And your eyes were red and your face was pale and there were little dots all over your body from where you'd been pricked and dosed with drugs. And you were all skinny and bony and fragile and it had only been a couple days. It's like they were sucking you up, ounce by ounce but so quickly. And I just fell in love with you all over again. Crazy to say, I know, but what else can I do? You melt me. I can't look at you for too long. Doctor says you're getting worse and that "it's unlikely..." blah blah blah, dumbasses- all of them. They don't know anything.
They don't know about you and me. They don't know about how strong you are. Or how good in basketball you are. Or how you had an offer to play for the American Olympic Soccer team but you turned it down because you "didn't feel like it" but actually because you wanted to watch my Stanley Cup live. And don't think I don't know about that- I still haven't yelled at you for that. Dumb doctors don't know about how you were the first girl I kissed and if you die on this bed in this hospital, you'll be the last I kiss. They don't know that you saved your virginity for me or that I dream of marrying you. They don't know that your dad's a dick and your mom's dead but you still fight through it all because that's who you are. You're like a soldier athlete model with horrible dance moves. And it's so beautiful.
They don't know shit because that's all they're good for. I'll spend every penny on you. And then me and you will live poor. On the streets. That'll be fun, kind of right? No? It's okay. It doesn't matter. We'll do whatever just as long as you wake up baby. I need to tell you everything you want to know about what the dicks did to you. They're dead, too. I didn't kill them though, I promise. They shot themselves, cowardly bastards. I love you Lana, please hurry and wake up. There's a surprise for you when you wake up. You're going to be so happy, I promise.
Love you forever and please just wake up already
Patrick
Dear Lana,
It's true that history repeats itself. Here we are, back in that same room again. Except last time I was in the hospital bed and you were sitting in this uncomfortable-ass chair writing letters. Jesus Christ Lana. I can't do this anymore. I can't take this and all the pain. You're fucking killing me. Please, I'm begging with everything I have that you just wake up. You've been in a coma for about a week now. You were still awake when I finally got to you. And you kept asking me what happened. And you kept screaming at me and telling me not to hurt you. Why would I hurt you? You broke my heart, baby, you did. I swear you broke it when you told me that I was going to hurt you and to please leave you alone. And your eyes were red and your face was pale and there were little dots all over your body from where you'd been pricked and dosed with drugs. And you were all skinny and bony and fragile and it had only been a couple days. It's like they were sucking you up, ounce by ounce but so quickly. And I just fell in love with you all over again. Crazy to say, I know, but what else can I do? You melt me. I can't look at you for too long. Doctor says you're getting worse and that "it's unlikely..." blah blah blah, dumbasses- all of them. They don't know anything.
They don't know about you and me. They don't know about how strong you are. Or how good in basketball you are. Or how you had an offer to play for the American Olympic Soccer team but you turned it down because you "didn't feel like it" but actually because you wanted to watch my Stanley Cup live. And don't think I don't know about that- I still haven't yelled at you for that. Dumb doctors don't know about how you were the first girl I kissed and if you die on this bed in this hospital, you'll be the last I kiss. They don't know that you saved your virginity for me or that I dream of marrying you. They don't know that your dad's a dick and your mom's dead but you still fight through it all because that's who you are. You're like a soldier athlete model with horrible dance moves. And it's so beautiful.
They don't know shit because that's all they're good for. I'll spend every penny on you. And then me and you will live poor. On the streets. That'll be fun, kind of right? No? It's okay. It doesn't matter. We'll do whatever just as long as you wake up baby. I need to tell you everything you want to know about what the dicks did to you. They're dead, too. I didn't kill them though, I promise. They shot themselves, cowardly bastards. I love you Lana, please hurry and wake up. There's a surprise for you when you wake up. You're going to be so happy, I promise.
Love you forever and please just wake up already
Patrick
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2/12/15