“Shut up. Let me tell you. Let me. Every time I look at your face, or even remember it, it wrecks me. And the way you are with me, and you’re just fun and you shit all over me and you make fun of me and you’re real. I don’t have enough time in any day to think about you enough. I feel like I’m going to live a thousand years cause that’s how long it’s going to take me to have one thought, about you, which is: I’m crazy about you, Pamela. I don’t want to be with anybody else. I don’t! I really don’t. I don’t think about “women” anymore, I think about you. I had a dream the other night that you and I were on a train. We were on this train and you were holding my hand. That’s the whole dream—you were holding my hand. And I felt you holding my hand. I woke up and I couldn’t believe it wasn’t real. I’m sick in love with you Pamela. It’s like a condition. It’s like polio. I feel like I’m going to die if I can’t be with you; and I can’t be with you, so I’m going to die. And I don’t care. Cause I was brought into existence to know you, and that’s enough. The idea that you would want me back? It’s like, greedy.”

Louis CK, Louie. Fucking kills me every time. (via ballingelicash)
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