Dear friend,
I drowned my 7 AM bones and daydreams in a soft lullaby about forgetting. And that is when I miss you and love you. When the world stalls on Sundays and morning light sifts through into our rooms, and it stalls the sleepy darkness giving way to day, and I am hidden by blanket, bed and bones, and the universe rakes through our hair, and I am awake to see it, I want to cry that we can swallow everything whole, cement into fate while defying city dreams still flit in our eye-lids behind the back of our minds, like how the night before we were driving home and a stream of headlights bore into my eyes to give company to stray thoughts and dreams backpacking across our skins.
Dear friend, did you know that sometimes humans forget the memory of their pains, so they don their aches over and over again, and if you ask yourself, would you readily give over everything that makes your prayers your prayers? So I build from the pits of our stomachs, and from days that leave nights in our eyes like someone’s streaming mascara; we can be sad summations of our skins, but I swear to God, when you break, you will flow. The most beautiful songs were written for someone, because of someone, so there’s something to be said about how things will live in other ways than now.
And I don’t know how to say that the world intervenes, and that things will make us cry, and that some dreams don’t come true, and that happiness is fleeting; I only know how to know that, I only know how to recognize in other words and other hearts the same knowledge and we don’t say, but everyday we dive heat-first into things that are blurring at the edges, and the things that are simply leaving. And I don’t know how to fix that, and the biggest thing I’ve ever learnt is that I can’t fix that, not on the pragmatic side of the scale, nor on the positive side of the scale. I only know that we will be, and we will be, and we will be. And I will love you for it, I promise you.
Love,
Me.
