Sal Paradise

Dear Sal,

Where are you, Sal? I think I'm losing you by the second. I
feel as though you're slipping away in the stream. In the
mainstream, Sal, my boy. I don't even know you anymore. Hell, I
can't even feel you looking right back at me.
What is all this need to find a partner? I thought we had it
pinned down that you weren't going to go whore the otherside out.
Was that just your rejective side holding you up strongly? Or was it
Her voice that sent the message that you shouldn't be in a hurry to
find a lover? Whatever it was, it's scaring the fuck out of me and
I'd really appreciate it if you stopped. Please.
I think you're forgetting yourself. And after all this push and
shove and ache and confusion, you're going to end up back at the
starting point? I hate to say it, but I think you've officially sold
yourself out. Not selling yourself out like before -- when you
thought wearing a color you hated was selling out. But, actually
giving up and throwing your soul out there. I remember how hard we
worked to get to the point where you were beginning to be your own
best friend. I just don't think I can help you anymore. I've tried
so hard and so much. I'm dry. Plain and simple, Sal: I can't help
you anymore.
So, with this, Sal, my dear great friend, I leave you. Please
be careful and I wish you much luck with whatever you do. I hope you
maintain some kind of steady balance when you jump on the other
fishies in the sea.

Your alter ego,
Sal