(no subject)

[comfylove]

today in creative writing my teacher said,
"write a postcard to someone from a coffee shop"

so i wrote
"thinking of you.
you sometimes think of me in these places,
so you have become the coffee beans and soft music.
these places.
california's on my mind."

there is hardly a moment for silence these days,
and so the moments i have to myself mean more.

things even might swallow others up,
but then they're still inside them, aren't they?

so i still have time to think about the air and how then it blows through my car window
maybe it's from india,
maybe from iceland,
maybe it's from anywhere, and it's been blown across so many people's skin and i'm
breathing it in,
touching all these strangers,
swallowing them up.

touch is such a strange thing,
this silence
and no matter how hard i think about it,
there's no music in its absence.

touch.

i went to a protest, just to rub up against strangers
and i did feel like coming, but i also felt like crying
doesn't seem so worth it right now

but, maybe it is.

i keep holding out for hands that'll
touch me and mean it.