I keep wanting to write letters to the people I love. For some reason I think writing letters will sufficiently get all the little ideas that are really just warmth on my skin all collected and able to enter the physical world. So dear you, here is tomorrow. Here is to living on. Here is to Saturday. Here is to you. Congratulations, you captured a bird. No, the bird flew to you. The bird gave up it’s wings for its new found curiosity. Look at me. I haven’t smiled like this in far too long. I want to tell you so much. Everything. I’d grow old with you. I’ve known you for barely 3 months. I like human beings. Too much. It’s my fatal flaw. I want to wake up to them. Sleep with them. Drink with them.
