Dearest Tommy,
You're not whiny and irritating and useless. Okay, a bit whiny, but that's all. Don't sell yourself short, Tommy. I can tell just by reading our letters that you're a smart person. Probably in need of flirting classes from me, but other than that, you're a bloody fine guy.
And about me knowing about the place... I like you, Tommy, really do, but there are some things I'd like to keep as a secret ;)
But anyway, I'm not surprised that all this stuff we're doing comes across as strange to you. I myself find it strange, and that's saying something, because my life is full of strange things I've learned to find normalcy in. (Like having a gay best friend, for example. That klunk should come off as strange, but it's the most normal thing in my list so far.) Tommy, you are--dare I say it-- a normal thing to me. You're so bloody normal it's strange. (Does anything I say even make sense to you?)
And, if anything, I don't deserve you as a pen pal.
But anyway, stop talking like this--like all this klunk is still a dream to you. This is happening, Tommy, and it's happening now.
Writing letters to me almost everyday. Going out with Teresa. Asking me about going out with Teresa.
It's all real, and you've got to get your head out of the clouds, or else they'll all fade away just as suddenly as they arrived.
Yours sincerely,
Newt