His handwriting is literal shit. He forgot how to hold a pen.
He's also fucking drunk, but whatever. He'll leave the scribbles, she'll probably think it's cuuuute.
Dear Princess,
I doubt you'll ever read this, but I'll write it like you will, 'cause you're smart and sneaky like that. And if you ever do, pretend like you never did. This is fucking dumb. Truly. Royally. So do us both a favor and give me that cute little innocent smile of yours instead of telling me you read this pathetic attempt at honesty.
You left already, but I didn't tell you, and I won't tell you, so don't ask. It's my birthday. Or it was, yesterday. It's almost morning and I'm tired but I miss you. I wanted to tell you somehow that it was the best old-birthday I've ever had. I've never known anyone like you. I know you're an alien and shit, but seriously, you're outta this world. I love Eliza and all, but shit. I think you're a better best friend since you can actually speak english and laugh at my lame jokes. But don't tell Eliza that.
Maybe one day I'll tell you everything Eliza knows. You don't have to hold on til then though. I'll be surprised if you do. But with the way you've been talking, I don't think you'll go down without a fight.
But that's not a bad thing. I like it. A lot. I like a lot of things about you, princess.
Thanks for the best birthday ever.
—J
