414

dearest james,

i wont deny that it feels a bit odd to write you this letter when i talk to you every day.

mostly in the shower, when im alone, and my mind is quiet.

i keep thinking about when we used to hang out at pitt street.  how'd you convince me to stay for days, and you made me one of the guys - with felix and victor in tow.  i remember when you bought your first dvd player, and made us watch porn, so over the moon you were about the slow-mo button.  the hundreds of cd's you owned, the way you banged on the neighbors door each time we left.

then your dream came true, and you got the place in battery. i dont think i had see you happier then that moment when we first walked in.  we shopped for your furniture, and you drove me crazy, and you threw shit across the room when it wouldnt build perfectly. all your strange quirks that made total sense to just you.

i think about all the times you helped me moved, and how much your organizational skills were so missed this time around. 

"You have too much shit, Zaida.  Throw this garbage out!" you would yell. 

did you know that at 414 i would deliberately move stuff around, and out of place, just to annoy you?

it was funny to watch you get up riled up about it.

i miss you terribly, and love you too much.

xxzaidaxx