dear greg,this is kind of weird because you're next to me right now and i would lik e you to stop looking -- thanks i dont really know how to write this without thinking about all the people that could read this, and that you will read this to. it probably wont 

make sense to anyone so im tempted to slam xout lines of poetry or makw

the metallic clicking of this typewriter gorgeous declarations of love 

and proclamations of joy, but thats not what this feels x like. right now

im just going to be olivia instead of a writer and let moorish dancers do

their jingle bell thing and without worrying about college or the future

or the internet, just stare at the back of your head and let your blue shirt

soak up my tears and jxust let my writing be bad. thats okay, every once

in a while. to be a human instead of a writer. xat least, it feels okay 

to me, my love. love, olivia