Over the years, I’ve written so many letters to you that I sealed but never sent. It is my will that they be delivered to your doorstep when I die.
Please, send me to space. I don’t need to be here.
You just don’t know it yet.
Today I tried archery for the first time. I always had a feeling I would enjoy it.
I’m mourning the loss of a dream lover.
He wasn’t even real, but this gloom can be felt through to the tips of my fingers and toes.
It’s a strange cold, a wetness, a numbness, a lack of blood.
Last night was the second time that I’ve dreamt you were dead.
a need
to sit on the shore and stare into vast ocean until i soak into the sand
to taste the briny spray of waves
to smell the salt on the wind
wanderlust or homesickness?
