paper and ink and words and heart

i’ve been writing you love letters since the day we met. some i send, others are these. and then there are those hidden away, i told you i’d let you read them one day. 

there’s one in my car. its date, may 14. wrapped in brown paper, your name your address scrawled across its the front.
a heart.
a stamp.
air mail.
within its folds is so much loving cursive – i lost my mind, my self, my heart in the writing of it.
invisible kisses for you.

from so far, i inch nearer.

i’ll write you love letters everyday,
it’s my way
to find
my way back to you.

so soon, i’ll be there so soon.

i wonder

i found a note i wrote. a single, narrow page, scrawled with black ink and the love of a heart bleeding with hope. the year before last i wrote it. folded it. slid it into a pocket, behind scrawled pages, behind times and places, in the very back of my diary.

the note smells like leather and youth.

the note, unfound, until now.

it’s a note. written with naivety, behind that rose-coloured glass that makes everything so glorious, behind the romanticism of a single unhinged moment. without fear or worry or confusion. 

i found a note.