Heath Ledger was an actor whose work I genuinely liked and admired. He charmed me in 10 Things I think about you, and broke my heart into a million pieces in Brokeback Mountain. I was seriously looking forward to him playing the Joker in The Dark Knight, but alas, when I go watch it now it’ll be something akin to watching Brandon Lee in The Crow.
Even if his death is ruled accidental or as an apparent suicide, it’s such a tragic waste. There’s an actor whose full potential we’ll never see, there’s a 2 year old daughter who’ll never see her father again, there’s a family that had to find out about his death via the media. RIP Heath, I hope you’re in a better place now.
I hate the way you talk to me, and the way you cut your hair.
I hate the way you drive my car.
I hate it when you stare.
I hate your big dumb combat boots, and the way you read my mind.
I hate you so much it makes me sick; it even makes me rhyme.
I hate the way you’re always right.
I hate it when you lie.
I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when you make me cry.
I hate it when you’re not around, and the fact that you didn’t call.
But mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you.
Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.
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