When I go to bed at night I do 4 things. I drop my robe, slide under the sheets, turn on my left side and stick out my ass. That's it. That's the signal. I just - I back it right up there because I know when I do, no matter how cold the damn thing is, no matter how difficult it might feel, no matter how desperately we want to kill each other it's gonna be met by this warm body on the other side that's gonna hold it. Two arms that... wrap around, pull me out of my head, quiet the voices, save me from myself... without ever having to ask. Every night, 31 years. Every night there's my ass and every night... he never lets me down. You find your home, and it may not be what you thought - you know; colour's off, style's wrong... but there it is anyway and to hell with you if you can't take a joke.
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Dear Bertie, You asked me before where I went. And I want to tell you. I went to a place where nothing's right, where every moment's backwards, every sky's without colour, without hope. I tried to come back, Bertie. But I got lost. And while I was gone, I met you. And I didn't even have the courage to realize I was home. A wise friend of mine told me 'we all have our homes', and now I know it's true. I hope you get this letter, Bertie. I figure I got 75 chances. Cause if you do you'll know that in the end, that's where I was. I found home, Bertie. I found you. I hope you can find your's soon. Get there - as fast as you can. And write me when you do. Love, Joe.
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