Dear mister,
Wait. Sorry. You mightn't be a mister. Who says every novella protaganist is a male, anyways? So, stuck in perpetual freeze mood, I'm unhappily reporting. Freeze, defrost,refrost, refreeze. It's due to that chilly, hand chapping air out there. Not day atmosphere, either. Nightly black with specks of silver. But only some nights. Did I tell you I was waiting for you? Whatever your haemaproditic name is. Sam. Alex. Yeah, something like that. You'd think I'd know your name but HARDLY. I consulted the clouds this afternoon and they'd seemed to have forgotten too. Not that you'd ever told me so that I could have the opportunity to ever forget. I try to look like I have two invisible, divisible friends right here. Sitting next to me with broad, straight toothed smiles and perked ears and bloody tongues. Sounds morbid now that I mention it. Perhaps. But I'd never heard you slam the door if you slammed it. You did slam it, didn't you? Didn't I just hear you? Or was that my skull clattering against my eardrum? Or was that my little coloured crayons hitting the compacted earth? I've got to keep on telling myself to close up my case that holds these things. Zipper it up. Right up. Wouldn't want to lose anything. Sometimes I think about what's slipped out when I wasn't looking or when I was thinking about something else. It feels lighter now, I swear. Thought there was a pair of scissors there that I bought at the start of the academic year. Peach cheeks. You ain't too close to comb. Hopefully, I haven't cut into your sweet hours. You haven't got long now. Tell Susie I have her knitted knot socks and they're washed. Keep your eyes up. You never know when a paper plane will hit you in the peck of your patella.
Love always (but never in flawed ways)
-K.
Wait. Sorry. You mightn't be a mister. Who says every novella protaganist is a male, anyways? So, stuck in perpetual freeze mood, I'm unhappily reporting. Freeze, defrost,refrost, refreeze. It's due to that chilly, hand chapping air out there. Not day atmosphere, either. Nightly black with specks of silver. But only some nights. Did I tell you I was waiting for you? Whatever your haemaproditic name is. Sam. Alex. Yeah, something like that. You'd think I'd know your name but HARDLY. I consulted the clouds this afternoon and they'd seemed to have forgotten too. Not that you'd ever told me so that I could have the opportunity to ever forget. I try to look like I have two invisible, divisible friends right here. Sitting next to me with broad, straight toothed smiles and perked ears and bloody tongues. Sounds morbid now that I mention it. Perhaps. But I'd never heard you slam the door if you slammed it. You did slam it, didn't you? Didn't I just hear you? Or was that my skull clattering against my eardrum? Or was that my little coloured crayons hitting the compacted earth? I've got to keep on telling myself to close up my case that holds these things. Zipper it up. Right up. Wouldn't want to lose anything. Sometimes I think about what's slipped out when I wasn't looking or when I was thinking about something else. It feels lighter now, I swear. Thought there was a pair of scissors there that I bought at the start of the academic year. Peach cheeks. You ain't too close to comb. Hopefully, I haven't cut into your sweet hours. You haven't got long now. Tell Susie I have her knitted knot socks and they're washed. Keep your eyes up. You never know when a paper plane will hit you in the peck of your patella.
Love always (but never in flawed ways)
-K.
