Oh skinny love.

I imagine what you are doing now; there are two options. You are probably tired, Little Bird, probably drinking green tea, snuggled up in bed wearing socks and your glasses (you look so very pretty in them you know) reading or watching television. Those images make me happy, to think of you being cosy. I have a massive urge to tuck you up into bed all safe from the world. Psychotic of me, sometimes, I think.

The other one is that you've gone out, and that you're getting drunk and upset. I wish I was there to tell you you're fine, you're OK, you're wonderful. I don't know what else to feel; sad. You always buy other people drinks, and I don't want you to feel like you have to do that for us. We like you just exactly as you are.

An image just popped into my head; of you being a victorian Lady, and I'd be the servant, doing your hair or something, before a big party. Glances in mirrors.

What does it say about me that I automatically relegate myself to a submissive role? I can imagine, with difficulty, you being the servant; only your face is so refined, pointed, carved of marble. Mine is hewn and rounded out of wood. My being the lady makes you my cinderella. I know I am not pretty; and I am past caring, except when it seems to matter. I don't know. It's saying a lot for my talent if it matters that much. Maybe I am neither pretty nor talented. Maybe I am pretty, and talented, just unlucky. I can't fathom it. I'd rather be talented and not as pretty.

He (and beanpole) said I was a six out of ten; better than average. I don't think so- they were being kind. Men aren't, but I evaluated myself as a two. I suppose they're more subjective. I don't know. My personality can be attractive sometimes.

Do you find me so, Little Bird? You have said I'm good looking. I don't comprehend exactly why. I am not, really, truly. You are and you don't think so either. I want to trace one of your delicate cheekbones with my fingers, and to put a hand on your mouth when you cry, or when there's a sob behind a laugh. To fold around you when you sit in dischord and to stroke your hair.