Sunday, January 24, 2010

dear l,

things were simpler then, when we loved like children do . . . claiming possession over each other's fingers and toes, blinking in wide-eyed wonder at smiles, sentences and scents.
somewhere in between your fingers and scent, i think, is where home lies. but where does the thinking end, l? when do we stop thinking about living? because between the imagining and the running, it's no wonder that i wake tired and sleep restless, that i chase nightmares and live dreams.
i don't know how long this can go on. i don't know how long we can keep from living.




we were children, then. never innocent, never quite so guilty, as you once said (so wrapped up in your words, love, that i need to travel your pages to make it through).
i don't want to imagine forever. soon, i will be gone, perhaps. you understand, i think. i think.

love, always, and remember september.


- mars ain't the kind of place to raise your kids. in fact, it's cold as hell. -


  1. My god. I loved this.

  2. looks like your words ended up staying where they belong.

  3. Nice post! :)
    Different and fresh style that we don't see everyday! Keep up the good work! :)