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You know what? I don’t drink like the rest of my friends. OR smoke pot. I don’t want to get like you. When they ask me to try, I tell them I’m allergic. It works Ok.

You scare me sometimes-when you’re here; NOT out there…where ever there is. I worry I’ll come home from school one day and find you dead.

On the other hand you are so brave; and in that way, I want to be just like you.

I wanna know what it’s like to hitchhike across the U.S. “…from sea to shining sea…” and see all the things you’ve seen.

I want to live a short while on a reservation and sleep inside a tee-pee: to have walked completely across the state of Colorado, {or was it Wyoming?} cause ‘there’s no thumbin’ it there.’

I’d even like to know what it’s like inside your head; to think like you. Just for a day.

It’s 5 am Mark. Time for me to get up. My head hurts. Please come home.

OH, and Mark? I love you.