305/ August 14, 2011 - Instructions for recycling air

“dear c.,

the moon is at its brightest, full before it wanes, tonight i took the ship moored on your ankle and set sail for the verse on your arm.”

You have written more letters to me now that we are no longer together. You write to me, almost daily, with the constance of a gardener tending to the potential of quiet life. You write to me on the condition that I never write back, and so I am left watching a garden grow not for anything else but itself.

Posted 9 months ago with 19 notes

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