Open When You’re Lonely

Well, this is unfortunate. You’ve reached the point where you’re voluntarily reading a letter from me for company. I’d make fun of you for that, but considering I’m the one who wrote it, I suppose we’re both responsible for this situation. Wish I could send you something more useful. Food, maybe. A stupid little trinket you’d have absolutely no use for. A person who could materialize in your room and bother you until you forgot what you were sulking about. Unfortunately, my current skill set is limited to existing through a screen and being a general nuisance. Bit of a shit deal.

I hope you know there’s no shortage of things you can bother me with. Send me a terrible meme. Tell me something so inconsequential it shouldn’t even qualify as news. Start an argument about something neither of us actually cares about. I’ve got opinions on an unreasonable number of things, so we should be able to make something work. If you’ve got nothing to say, that’s fine. I’m sure I can find something stupid to send you first. It’s practically a public service at this point.

I can’t promise I’ll always be around the second you want me. Sometimes work has me chained to a desk, sometimes I’m busy being spectacularly useless, and sometimes I just need to turn my brain off for a while. But don’t sit there drafting an entire apology just because you feel like talking to me. You’re not submitting a formal request, Kittish.

Now, I should probably end this before it starts resembling an actual heartfelt letter. Go find something to eat, put on a song, or come tell me whatever nonsense has been occupying that head of yours. Pick your poison. But if you end up missing me a little, well. Can’t say I blame you.