Wonderful.I have an unhealthy desireMore Like This
to sleep with you.
Not to sleep sleep,
but to literally fall asleep to you
and wake up to you.
I want to know if you sleep silent like death
or if you sleep awake,
moving and talking,
The summer has brought me the freedom I crave
and an appreciation for life
and the hunger to maintain this perfect happiness.
Wonderful. I've been wonderful.
And I don't know when it started,
but it's here,
and I'm not letting it get away.
Maybe I can't sleep
because I'm afraid that if I lose sight of wonderful,
it will sleep out of my grasp
like a leprechaun,
and I will be normal again.
I know you sleep perfectly still,
except for the little subconscious sparks
that slide down your arm
and escape through your fingers,
as if warning you to stay awake
like you have something to protect.
Maybe you're afraid to sleep, too.
loud and closei want to write you a letter -More Like This
you know the kind, the ones you see after a funeral,
the ones that say too much because no one knows the
difference between too much and not enough,
the ones that only surface because their authors
have solid confidence that their recipients will never see them.
the thing is, that won't be happening.
you won't die, and i know this because i am never wrong,
and when i set my mind on something, i'm not letting go.
my point: this is your posthumous,
maybe just humous
letter from me to you, and i'd ask you what you think of it,
only i'm not sure if that's the protocol
(or proper etiquette) for such a letter.
you're not someone i expect to forget.
my memory might be comparable to that of an elephant,
but an elephant's memory is entirely independent from
the beauty of its sad eyes and great ivories.
what i mean is i don't forget beautiful things,
and beautiful things are impactful things, re