REMEMBER THIS?

Dear Bob-who-is-motherfucking-20, How does it feel to be motherfucking 20? About the same as 19, I know. Chances are you're even stupider than you were at the time you wrote this. As you wrote this, you felt pretty okay. You had an appointment to start hormones in just under a month, your crust friends were having a wedding just before that, and you had a steady job that you were quite fond of: not to mention a great place to live and the ability to support yourself. You'd come quite a long way since the past year! Did I mention K? As you wrote this, he sat right next to you. He was beautiful, gorgeous, all slender curves and sweet expressions. He tried desperately to understand you but he never will be able to. Not that you're an incredibly amazing complex person, or any of that. You might feel differently now (probably not), but only transgenders could ever possibly begin to understand you. No one will ever know quite how you feel, but you won't ever know how anyone else feels either. Are you still with K? If so, why? How is that going? He's too good for you. He deserves better. If you love him, you ought to let him go. Things were going well, I suppose, when you wrote this. Let's see if they're just as good now. Let's see if they're better. They ought to be. Let's see if you're meant to move past your high-voiced, voluptuous frame and get that moustache you've always wanted. Shh, don't cry, you little pussy. Do you still have Cheree? Go play a note on her, as soon as you're able. Do it for me, the teen-aged loser. Be a 20-year-old loser and play Cheree. Then go find a cat, and squeeze it. I know you still love those kitties. B