Darling, I so wanted to speak to you last night. I was in a hotel being an assistant photographer in a photo-shoot, taking photos of a photographer taking photos of two unemployed models, playing with a kiss scene – the kiss that never happens, but everybody is excited just looking at the love scene opening up before their eyes. And it suddenly hit me what this whole scene reminded me of. It was like a dream I had sometime last July, the dream where you and I were in a hotel (I know, right?) and it was all great fun and then we went to the balcony and we were about to kiss and I woke up. I just could not take the tension the unemployed models deal with so gracefully every time a photographer tells them to perform a near-kiss.
I delete the whole message. Instead I type: Darling, time difference is a bitch. Will you not shave so next time I can see you with a beard? And a hairy chest?
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