white blank page // luke hemmings

letter 556

Dear Luke,

            I'm flattered that you think I'm that friendly. To be honest, I'm an awful, awful cook. No kid in any neighborhood would want any of my food. Sure, maybe I'd be the grandma on the block that the kids love because she swears and has a gambling problem (I don't have a gambling problem, i just think old ladies that do have them are a hoot.)

          Our friendship is rather weird if you think about it. Whenever I bring you up to my friends (which isn't that often, don't get a big head or anything) they sort of tease me, saying that you're probably some old 40 year old man that wants to cut me up to a million pieces. But yet, here I am. haha.

          My friends suit me, I suppose. They're sort of like family. I don't always like them, but I'll always love them. Mostly because I'm stuck with them. And yes, please, please tell me more about the boys. I'm curious to see what kind of people you surround yourself with. 

       Wow, who would have thought a horoscope would have more insight on the two of us than we did. I guess I should have turned to the stars back when I first got your rude little letter, eh? 

       You don't really have to say anything. Don't thank me, please. I'm honored to have a bit of your music. Maybe one day you'll send me a cd or something? And yeah, yeah, yeah, I'll remember you when my artwork appears on the streets of some big city slum. ha. 

      But I'm not quite sure I understand what you said there at the end. You can't just slip that in there, god luke. You want to meet me in person? ... I ... Don't get me wrong. You're one of my best friends. You know me way better than Bree or Franky or anyone. It's just... We have something really good going here. I'm afraid that you won't like me in person. I'm awkward and boring and dull and yeah. That would suck if we couldn't be friends if things didn't work out.

               Your friend, 

                          Isobel Lockett

P.S. you're not nearly douche-y and self-absorbed as the type of guys Bree goes after. Sorry to break your heart. (not really... you idiot.)