(no subject)
Letting go just in time for summer, so I can escape back to my warm desert nook and spend my time painting and writing poetry and trying not to think about the letter I wrote her. San Francisco is getting colder now but it's still beautiful in a sad and quiet sort of way. I miss everyone but I don't call them. I just let them sit in my heart and weigh it down. The rain and letters and unwritten papers and lost phones and empty apartments, it all washes over me, hitting in waves and receding back to calm, the everlasting ebb and flow of my humanity. I wait for sleep to escape to dreams where I am not distracted by this heart overflowing with love and sorrow. But without this chaotic heart, dreams would never come to be, and so I embrace the chaos as a lover and let her writhe within me.