Megan Fox, I’m not an idiot. OK? I don’t expect anything from you. I’m not delusional or confused about the nature of our relationship. Obviously we will never be romantically involved, but beyond that I also recognize that we will never be friends. We won’t even be acquaintances. Please, Megan Fox, know that I at least have the self-awareness to recognize my place in the world, and to satisfy myself with it. I am not completely unhappy.
But Megan Fox, there are times when I am sitting at home on my overstuffed couch giving the cat its medicine when I dream of a better world. I dream of a place without loneliness and without the constant throb of disappointment. Perhaps it’s a fantasy, and yet it seems so practical. Most of the time, when I’m dreaming of this paradise, I still live in the same apartment and hang out with the same friends. It’s more just a feeling of belonging and satisfaction. A warmth.
Sometimes, Megan Fox, when I see you in a magazine or on TV, I feel like you live in that other world, and you’ve come to visit to show us that it is real. You’re a symbol of that other life without the hospitals and the goodbyes. If I could just somehow get there. If I could just somehow live there. Not with you, I know. Just with me.
Megan Fox, I just wanted to thank you for that. It may sound silly to you, or lame, but you make me hopeful. So Megan Fox, please, JUST TAKE THIS FUCKING “THANK YOU” FLOWER, YOU ASSHOLE.