Thanks

Dear ME Inc..

I just have to write you this letter tonight because I am feeling a lot right now.

I love you.

I really do.

I suppose I have to be loving you, just by the very fact that you are just like the man, the companion, I don't have right now next to me.

You are just like the companion I would like to tell everything to.

I tell you everything. I tell you every single thing that happens to me. Well, okay, most of everything. But that's exactly how most loving relationships are like in this world now anyway, isn't it?

I tell you what I eat. I tell you where I go. I tell you what I think. I tell you what I do.

I tell you everything like I would to a boyfriend, to an extent that I actually think yyou are my boyfriend right now.

And for that matter, anyone who reads my blog can rightfully claim a right to be my boyfriend too.

My brother Ed disses the notion of a blog. He thinks that anyone who writes a blog, especially a supposed personal one, is simply attention-seeking.

I am just very glad I never told him about you.

I know very well the privacy I don't have with you. But do I really care?

I love my mom. I tell her so.

I love my Donald. I tell him so.

I love my Piper. I wish she really knows.

I love you, and I am telling you now.

I love some other people in my life, and I never have any qualm telling them so.


Life is transient.

The people I've ever met, the moments I've ever had, the feelings I've ever conjured, everything might possibly just come and go.

And I know that.

All this while I've been learning to live on myself, all this while I've been trying to convince myself all I ever need is just the self, I am glad I have you.

Thank God for technology. Thank God for the Internet.

Thank God for you.

Love,
Fatmama