How are you?

Hardly. I rarely attribute negative tones to acknowledgement, to the thought of loved ones haunting the attic of bone houses. The carpenter of curiosity has no use for moments between dawn and dusk, but temperature drops, or when heart racing stops, the coffee cups pile up on my beat up and snow soaked sleepless nights, and I hear in a whisper from the moon - "too soon, too soon." But we do. As we do as we'll do. I'd hate to be the hill atop which hopelessness sits, waiting to slide into the gut, perpetuate the shadow, a light behind eyes cast into eyes. Cheer up, they might say, the best is yet to come. We've got a lot to learn, and when I see you again, I'll be a tree rather than that puddle of water waiting to be sucked up by seared soil. Don't stay wrapped up in "you" for too long, ghosts are only present tense past. A letter to myself and others, as applicable.

Hello

"i forgot me because of the weight on my shoulders you thought i was lost, and so you left me to be such now that i've found myself, i couldn't recognize you if i tried the i's are the same the you's are different in that relativity i don't how, but would still want to be, in's and with's ... only with a memory"

Sometimes we, lost in this thing considered, by some but not many others, in respect to the experience derived, unlike that or those who resort to impose, love, make choices that create such a cacophony, like waves against cliffs of question, our thoughts drown out the beauty of life within "us."

When the pins that hold cloth tightly to the skin, showing our shape and vulnerability, sink into the flesh, through our ribs, our nails pry each other out, unsure if this pain is a part of the permanence, wild wonder about why it feels wrong to become right.

I'm not sure if you'll read this. But I should have pretended like it never happened. Into the frying pan. You were prepped and ready, I was unsure and steady, slowly discovering that others are far beyond what I care not to comprehend... and you were the flower in the boot, trudging through the mud, love on a dock, deer beyond sight, the flight down hills or locked bones racing along any road. Maybe if we had asked more questions, sought more acceptance, destroyed more difference, came together more quickly and took two hours to convince every goodbye, see you next time, alright, to happen. Maybe if I could see over the 400 miles, the rolling clouds wouldn't have stifled mind's sight, I'd take the heart you offered with silk and shining armour, forever protected, respected, accepted.

Things have happened, yes. Void of importance. I could crush the moment in time and the self that had such a thought. I wish you'd have said hello.