Look, I know you don’t feel the same way about me. I
know that; I’m not stupid. It’s fine. I’m actually fine with the way things
are—that I’m in a constant state of agitation. It’s actually better than any
real requited love/sex thing I ever had.
I’m saying that…I want to be your friend, and it’s
okay with me that there’s nothing else. But can I just…can I just tell you one
time the way I feel about you?
Yes, I’ll be your friend. And I won’t press you to
be anything else—I promise—if you’ll just let me get it out one time.
Pamela, I’m in love with you. Yeah, it’s that bad…I don’t think about women
anymore; I think about you. I had a dream the other night that you and I were
on a train. We were on this train, and you were holding my hand. That’s the
whole dream—that you were holding my hand, and I felt you holding my hand. I
woke up and I couldn’t believe it wasn’t real.
I’m sick in love with you, Pamela. It’s like a
condition. It’s like polio. I feel like I’m gonna to die if I can’t be with
you. And I can’t be with you, so I’m gonna die. And I don’t care, because I was
brought into existence to know you—and that’s enough. The idea that you would
want me back? It’s, like, greedy.
I’m doing a bad job at this…
Is there any planet, any part of the world that you
feel any of the same…? Is there even a shard of a fraction of a feeling that
you have…?
No…no…no…
(“That was gorgeous. That made feel really good.”)
Good, good.
Nothing coming back in the other direction? Not
even…not…no…
Nothing…
Okay…
For those who have never been in Louie's position, you have no idea why these words are so important, so poignant, so powerful.
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