Missing

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Sometimes I just miss people. I want to hold them in my arms and feel their heart beat. I want to look into their souls. Share stories. Linger in all the delicious ways. This isn’t lust. There are many ways to be in the world. Lust has its place. But the kind of desire I speak of is a love so deep that it may only last a second yet find perfection. The willingness to be absolutely present. This is not a contradiction. The longing is a sweetness, something that poetry holds hands with and prose takes a long walk through aimless streets.

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Shattered Silence

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There is nothing here but this piano and an odd odour left by the past inhabitants. I have escaped from my prison and I play like a mad woman. Silence shatters on solid floor. Light breaks on fragile skin. I am ready to penetrate the abyss and enter your world. It matters not if this is present, future or past.

Letter to Clare

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I don’t know what to say to you. My mind has been stolen by the sound of the waves. The rhythm is tireless and speaks to each day. I don’t know what to think, under the unceasing sun. My logic has melted and sits in my hands. There’s time to be hopeful, to look at our fears. There’s no room for comfort but always for tears. I laugh at the vastness of empty belongings. The trees know the answer is deeply connected. The mountain is solid, yet crumbles away. No-one is wiser. There’s nothing to say.