Because

I can't be with you I like to try and analyse you instead.

I've been inside for three days moping. Life just isn't it at the moment, and I'm scared I'll never be happy doing a job- because everything seems to lack variety and....

But I do like to think about you, it's just I've lost all desire to do anything.

So thinking about you...

Brother with drug problems and a sister, who I've heard, is always the centre of attention. Bee says. That must shunt you to the back a fair bit. I can't imagine you ever being shunted back, you're so very present in every way... but I suppose you must be. Maybe at home you're the quiet one? I've seen pictures of your sister and she's very pretty but I don't know. You're prettier, bobbing about and being happy and never trying to be seductive but seducing me utterly, nontheless. Your hair's full of life and even when you're sad you laugh. Noone's ever told you this, and I would be the first to tell you that you mean this to me. I can't deny that's attractive. There's no sense of unfairness about you. I mean, I always think everything's not fair, why why why, and you never whinge and never whine and never say anything's bad. You whine about little things- blisters, not having chocolate, walking too far- but never bigger things.

And you are attention seeking and far too loud and bouncy in all situations. I wonder how you'd be at a funeral?

But none of those seem like bad things, and you always know when you're seeking attention. I'd like to write an ode to you. I just wish you could know that someone thought this about you, that you're beautiful and wonderful and all the rest of that schmaltzy rubbish, because you'd be pleased. I wish I could send you something, maybe to tell you... maybe a letter. You'd never believe it, and you'd think you were being stalked. You might go after the wrong person entirely or think it was a cruel joke, but at least you'd have about two minutes when you'd know.