feather scratches fill no emptiness, but we like to try.
im talking about homework, while you dont know im sitting here, covered in letters, snot and tears that feel years old are running down my face. i feel like ive been electrocuted, and gone back to last year, then found myself here, and somehow feel more real than i have this year. im back to hanniel, kate fisher, brooke shepherd and most importantly, giverny lewis. im reading songs about feather scratches, do you remember, and my body is breaking itself into the pieces of before, ripping away from each other. now i dont need a blade to do that, cuz the pieces ui already cut out and cutting loose and moving around, creating the images of last year in my head.
my box of letters is next to me, and i feel like it is a dormant mountain, burning my face, ash in my hair. its this heat making my face detatch, and my chest explode remembering you all.
im scared this is too much for ask, but i had a revelation, just a baby one, and i realised for my birthday, or going away i dont want a single item. i want letters. from everybody who means different chunks of the world to me. even if you used to, but it died, even if we dont even talk anymore, i just want letters.
i want letters with no reference to date, to birthdays, to italy.
i want letters that will never fade, or date.
i want letters i can hold onto for the rest of my life, put in a seperate box, the ultimates.
i want profound honest natural running flowing long winded poetic raw distressing loving warming letters. nothing that says i love you.
something that says why i am loved, letters about how people see me, about our relationships, what itd be like if i was never here, what i bring, what i am, i want definitions and memories and emotion so raw i cry everytime i read it. i want the giv song in letters from everybody i care about.
not even fucking letter. i just want something recorded in a langugage only me and you would understand. i want something someone else would read and see japanese. i want them to be letters from years ago i was never given me.
not a reocrd of things i want to hear, just something real. i want your languages placed together in a bow like jewels. i want letters so real i get scared thinking about them.
i want pieces of people, pieces of what ive given you, if anything, what ive stolen, what you lost because of me.
i dont want any replies to this post, please. i dont want structure, or protocal, i dont even want them on my birthday, make it a week late just so its a week late, but i want to take them overseas with me, more important than clothes, something i can sob too in my host family italian damp little bed. i want them to be eternal, something i can read when im about to die, and still understand.
i want to take you all overseas, in a letter box. i want you to take risks, tell me trainwrecks of memories, stories, personal jokes we said we'd never get over but somehow forgot. i want impressions of you. i want your art and your skin and your language in my suitcase.
these tears have hidden somewhere at the back of my head, waiting for when id read these old letters from millions of years, yesterdays ago.
kate, hanniel, giverny; the reason ill never forget any of you, the reason youll never stop being the most important people of my life, is because you didn't stop existing, when i fucked up. & brooke; remember some of those phone calls?
& i mean kate fisher. the katefisher who wrote love&sanity on my birthday letter.
suprise me. write me a letter.
[actual birthday; october 17th. but send whenever you want.
5a church street lambton.
actual leaving date; nov. 4]
my box of letters is next to me, and i feel like it is a dormant mountain, burning my face, ash in my hair. its this heat making my face detatch, and my chest explode remembering you all.
im scared this is too much for ask, but i had a revelation, just a baby one, and i realised for my birthday, or going away i dont want a single item. i want letters. from everybody who means different chunks of the world to me. even if you used to, but it died, even if we dont even talk anymore, i just want letters.
i want letters with no reference to date, to birthdays, to italy.
i want letters that will never fade, or date.
i want letters i can hold onto for the rest of my life, put in a seperate box, the ultimates.
i want profound honest natural running flowing long winded poetic raw distressing loving warming letters. nothing that says i love you.
something that says why i am loved, letters about how people see me, about our relationships, what itd be like if i was never here, what i bring, what i am, i want definitions and memories and emotion so raw i cry everytime i read it. i want the giv song in letters from everybody i care about.
not even fucking letter. i just want something recorded in a langugage only me and you would understand. i want something someone else would read and see japanese. i want them to be letters from years ago i was never given me.
not a reocrd of things i want to hear, just something real. i want your languages placed together in a bow like jewels. i want letters so real i get scared thinking about them.
i want pieces of people, pieces of what ive given you, if anything, what ive stolen, what you lost because of me.
i dont want any replies to this post, please. i dont want structure, or protocal, i dont even want them on my birthday, make it a week late just so its a week late, but i want to take them overseas with me, more important than clothes, something i can sob too in my host family italian damp little bed. i want them to be eternal, something i can read when im about to die, and still understand.
i want to take you all overseas, in a letter box. i want you to take risks, tell me trainwrecks of memories, stories, personal jokes we said we'd never get over but somehow forgot. i want impressions of you. i want your art and your skin and your language in my suitcase.
these tears have hidden somewhere at the back of my head, waiting for when id read these old letters from millions of years, yesterdays ago.
kate, hanniel, giverny; the reason ill never forget any of you, the reason youll never stop being the most important people of my life, is because you didn't stop existing, when i fucked up. & brooke; remember some of those phone calls?
& i mean kate fisher. the katefisher who wrote love&sanity on my birthday letter.
suprise me. write me a letter.
[actual birthday; october 17th. but send whenever you want.
5a church street lambton.
actual leaving date; nov. 4]