II
12:18 p.m.

Kev -

Last time you were here, you'd given up meat for her. You'd started going to church again and you were trying not to "indulge your baser instincts," as you put it. Does it ever occur to you that life is better when it's full of things you do, rather than empty because of all the things you don't do?

That's what I love about you and always have - the fact that you compose aching experimental classical music and also drink beer and eat steak and jerk off. I love the fact that you can discuss Vivaldi in one breath and belch the ABCs the next. It is your very paradoxical nature that draws me to you.

You swear up and down that you are not changing for her, that you are becoming who you want to be...but I wish you could see who you are, instead, and be content with that. You were the man who sat on my couch and said you just wanted to "have sex with a beautiful woman;" a year later, you sat on my bed, in a different state, and said that "holding her hand was better than any kiss." You were lying, and we both knew it. Holding her hand may have been great, but there's a cave man in you screaming with suppressed lust that wanted to ravage her on the spot, I know it. And you know it, too. No matter how you hide or control them, your appetites will not change.

So, even though what I really am saying is that I love you as you are and she does not...I also want you to stop expecting yourself to behave like someone else - hold to no code but your own. Don't be ashamed of yourself - drink a beer, eat a steak, and sneak off to Chicago to suck face with a woman who likes to spend Sunday mornings on her knees, but not for the usual reasons.

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