slow motion
Dear Sophie,
I think we can make this work. I've had dreams of knocking on your door. When I'm awake now I still hear the knocking. I hear the knocking everywhere. I went to your house and I stood on the front walk and I thought about knocking. I almost knocked. But the knocking is so loud in my mind, bang and bang and bang, that I decided that was enough. I let my head's, my heart's, my dreams' knocking be enough. Did you hear me out there? I walked away down the street to the diner. I'm sitting here now, iced tea. Writing you this letter. Sophie, I think we can make this work. We just need to go slow. Don't worry about the knocking, I don't mean anything by it. We'll go slow. Snail slow. Tar slow. As I'm writing to you I keep getting flashes of other things, of visions. The visions aren't of you they're of your house. I'm tearing up flowers and throwing them at your door. I'm tearing up clouds and leaving bits of lightning all over your lawn. I've just knocked my iced tea onto the floor. I just want to yell. Sophie, I think we can make this work. There are whole gardens in my chest, whole storms. There's noise and fury and knocking. You're my sweetheart and I want to literally burn bridges with you. Together we'll burn bridges. Literally. We'll light the fuses and watch them burn. We'll kiss in smoke. We'll take it slow, Sophie. Write me back. To the diner I guess.
Love,
v. l.
PS: Here is a secret: One night you turned to me in bed - you were still asleep, - and you said "I have nevers in my mouth." But it sounded like bullshit.