still not our nate.

Nathan, you began to believe all of the things you said. They became more than stoned philosophies, more than drunken ramblings.

You made them who you are.

Now you're in the mental ward, and there's not much I can do for you except bring you your Burroughs and your Zorn and your notebook and some Camels. This is something you have to work out on your own. You have to realize that you're not really a dark angel. You're not a prophet.

There's a lot of truth in your words, but you have to accept that the world is not always (in fact, rarely) what you, or I, or anyone wants it to be. That's just not how it is.

There are so many people out here who are so worried about you, and we're all here for you, no matter what, and you know that, so why are you pushing us away? Meg is frantic. She's your sister, and to have you say those things to her just about broke her today. She wants so badly to help you, and calling the hospital was the best thing she could think of. She loves you so much, man, and you need to know that.

We all do.

Get well, my friend. And despite what you say, I am your friend, as well.

I say I am.


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