Neil Gaiman
Alexander Pope
Tuesday, June 07, 2005 dearest boy, my Adam, Love, mom. so... who'll be my joy? I'm sorry for being kind of rude to everyone who attempted to talk to me. Let me deal with it in my own time. I appreciate your attempt to help but, I'd really just rather handle it on my own. If I needed you then, I'd ask for your help. Please stop reminding me of what I have to do. I know what they are. It's just that I'm still figuring some stuff out so I can't really give you guys a definite answer. Stop asking me questions... just let me come to you when I'm ready to talk. I don't want to be rude to you guys but sometimes, there are just some stuff that I have to keep to myself. I respect your privacy... so why won't you respect mine? I'm sorry if I'm not as open to talk as other people. I was just kind of raised that way. I believe that they're my problems and I should be the only person to solve them. When and if I need help, I'll ask. Believe it or not, I am very much confused and your questions and attempts to make me realize how good I have it don't really work. I'm tired of thinking. I'm tired of everything. Give me time. Stop giving me the 3rd degree. I'm just tired. I'm too tired. :)
I dreamed a dream, you and I facing each other in a tiny yellow boat on green water under blue sky. Me and my son and the yellow boat. And we laugh and the boat rocks and the ripples spread from boat, to pond, to sea,the sky, and nothing can stop them, nothing ever will. When you think of me, Adam, know that in a world of pain... you were and always will be my joy.