Has magnolia gone into melt down yet?

I had the dream again and I wake up sweaty and confused. Hard. I check his website over breakfast - an apple, the only thing I can keep down if there is no news - but the page is the same as it was yesterday. I stare at it, willing it to change but of course it doesn't.

"Sing, Justin. Sing," I whisper.

I take the pen and scented paper from the drawer and I write the letter again. The words are always the same, always.

Dear Mr Timberlake,

I am your biggest fan. I'm sure you hear this often but it's true. I love you so much. Your films are brilliant pieces of work, sparkling stars in my night sky, but I miss your voice. I miss your dancing.

Please, Justin. Sing. Sing for me.

yours

x

On my way to the Post Office I pass so many people looking sad and empty, like finished bottles of fizzy drinks, and it's not surprising. When your beautiful, colourful world becomes a gray scale replica it's hard to rejoice.

I put the letter in the post box - I kiss the stamp as I always do - and go to work.

***

I had the dream again and I wake up sweaty and confused. Hard. I check his website over breakfast - an orange, the only thing I can keep down if there is no news - but the page is the same as it was yesterday and the day before. I stare at it, willing it to change but of course it doesn't. I sigh.

"Sing, Justin," I whisper.

I take the pen and scented paper from the drawer and I write the letter again. The words are always the same, always.

Dear Mr Timberlake,

I am your biggest fan. I'm sure you hear this often but it's true. I love you so much. Your films are brilliant pieces of work, sparkling stars in my night sky, but I miss your voice. I miss your dancing.

Please, Justin. Sing. Sing for me.

yours

x

On my way to the Post Office I pass so many people looking sad and empty, like finished bottles of fizzy drinks, and it's not surprising. When your beautiful, colourful world becomes a gray scale replica it's hard to rejoice or see opportunity.

I put the letter in the post box - I kiss the stamp as I always do - and go to work.

***

I had the dream again and I wake up sweaty and confused. Hard. I check his website over breakfast - an apple, the only thing I can keep down if there is no news and there never is - but the page is the same as it was yesterday and the day before and, I think, the day before that. I stare at it, willing it to change but of course it doesn't. I sob.

"Justin," I whisper. "Can you hear me?"

I take the pencil and scented paper from the drawer and I write the letter again. The words are always the same, always.

Dear Mr Timberlake,

I am your biggest fan. I'm sure you hear this often but it's true. I love you so much. Your films are brilliant pieces of work, sparkling stars in my night sky, but I miss your voice. I miss your dancing.

Please, Justin. Sing. Sing for me.

yours

x

On my way to the Post Office I pass so many people looking sad and empty, like finished bottles of fizzy drinks, and it's not surprising. When your beautiful, colourful world becomes a gray scale replica it's hard to rejoice or see opportunity or understand what possibility means.

I put the letter in the post box - I kiss the stamp as I always do - and go to work.

***

I had the dream again and I wake up sweaty and confused. Hard. I check his website over breakfast - orange juice, the only thing I can keep down if there is no news and there never is - but there is, there is news, the page is different. I stare at it, incredulous.

"Justin," I whisper. "You heard me. Oh Justin."

I take the pencil and scented paper from the drawer and I throw them in the fire. The words were always the same, always.

Dear Mr Timberlake,

I am your biggest fan. I'm sure you hear this often but it's true. I love you so much. Your films are brilliant pieces of work, sparkling stars in my night sky, but I look forward to your voice and your dancing.

Thank you, Justin.

yours

magnolia
 
Your on the edge now.

You need to find the right way, one ways heaven and the other...... well probably best not to think about that right now, but it's ******* horrible, YEAH?
 
In the interest of keeping things fair I give you Miss Biel, who is an ugly woman of no character and even fewer skills.

I will remove this in five minutes.

e : redacted as promised.
 
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Timberlake has actually grown on me recently... Scary.

More scary was that beiber is his protegee...

To be fair, I'd much rather any musician brought out an album every 5 years that was good, rather than every year for only mediocre stuff. Just don't be all Guns N Roses.

kd
 
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