
Letters
I thought about writing a letter tonight. But I am admittedly a little afraid to actually know her. It has honestly been a minute since I have tortured someone with my rambling correspondence; I feel out of practice. Out of touch with more gentle thoughts; out of time to the rhythm of all these 517 hearts. I find myself terrified of letters. Probably because it’s only been a little over a month now. And I haven’t yet found the courage to read the last one I received. The one that came at me hard on that awful, and beautiful, Wayne’s City night. But it’s still right there. That letter is still tucked away, unopened, inside a locked typewriter case. The vintage companion that has traveled with …
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