Tuesday, February 5, 2008

Dear South Africa,

I think I'm in love with you.


Let's run away together. I promise I'll leave America for you. America sucks. It was a forced marriage, I had no say. We weren't really together, it was just a temporary thing. It was because of money. I know that sounds shallow, but America has more money than you. But I'm over America. Really, I am. American treated me like shit, but I put up with it for the money. I thought maybe if I made enough of it, I'd be happy. I was wrong.

But you, South Africa, I mean you're really something else. I feel like I can really be myself around you and open up. You're so warm, friendly, inviting. And hot. You are smoking hot.

I feel like you really listen to me, South Africa. When I talk, you never tune me out, or check your cell phone. America does. Again, I don't know what I was thinking. But I'm over America, I swear. I'll never go back. America has problems. America is fake.

America never wanted to marry me, because he was too ashamed. But you, South Africa....you aren't ashamed. Or at least you haven't been ashamed since 2006. But I forgive you. You got over yourself. 2 years of tolerance is a good start.

I guess what I'm trying to say is...pick me. Be with me.

I'm just a boy, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love him.

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