another end of yourself

Sorry, I swallowed the receiver, the bell, the doorknob, the handle. I slip into myself, and the colours hunger like spiders, and it can't be very pleasant. But I do wonder what happens when there is no more soil to drop the ballasts—I move that way bound.

But I remember the plane coming down in only the candle light, the smoke from every warm smile. I remember the fireworks at midnight, and the flight of hopes. I said I knew I could be myself, I could give everybody fair warning, and open outwards—only the truth can be mended. It's still my biggest dream and I will, but how and when?

You are hope across infinite night.

so, it's okay, you know? everything is only guiding you loosely—summer clothes you should not come to fall under—

but if you can hear me i will give you one thing: this stick remaining in my soul. I loved someone, and maybe I was not lost before that, but now I move with such beautiful fault.

—and hopes that will not come easy. so your sadness is not such a terror, blood nose, apology. I will be here writhing for you, if that could ever be what you needed to know. i will hold my conversation to many more seasons, because you always liked time a little bit. I will be strange, and maybe a little warm—you smiled so terribly crooked and swept up, all warm dough in cheeks, a wet dog nose in happiness. I take one picture, and it's you, and I keep it.

so i am telling, if you might catch that.