Dear Diary,
Feanor sent more poetry today. I hate to put anyone through the sheer horror of reading it, but I need to just get it off my chest. Here's just a couple of the poems I received.
My darling,
My beloved,
My sugarplum.
Oh how you excite my heart.
It skips a beat whenever you come near.
It stops beating whenever you hair is here.
No, wait; there's more! Oh joy.
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
My gems are golden,
And your hair is too.
What is it with this guy and my hair?!?! You think he'd get over it after a while, but noooo. I think this last one's the worst.
Oh my love, Oh maiden fair.
Let me have one lock of hair.
I'll treasure it always, even in my sleep.
For thine hair is finer than wool of sheep.
Sheep? SHEEP?!?! Perhaps I should write back. Maybe I'll say something like ...
Sweet uncle dear,
whom my hair does fear,
SHUT THE HELL UP!!!