Or burns them up at a big party.
You know, I'm going to be honest.
I hope that one year after I have died, there exists someone in this world that will collect all the letters I've written to people, puts them together in one big bundle, and tries to make a book out of it. I hope they even think to collect all the letters I've kept from people and make it somewhat chronological.
Hell, e-mails too! Because who has escaped existing electronically these days? [Not me, that's for sure.]
I've got this stupid-great-big-average-love that I want people to know and feel. But my eyes aren't big enough to say that. So instead I just ask question after question after question. Like each answer, whether from your mouth, your fingertips or your pen, could make me less thirsty.
I hope that one year after I have died, there exists someone in this world that will collect all the letters I've written to people, puts them together in one big bundle, and tries to make a book out of it. I hope they even think to collect all the letters I've kept from people and make it somewhat chronological.
Hell, e-mails too! Because who has escaped existing electronically these days? [Not me, that's for sure.]
I've got this stupid-great-big-average-love that I want people to know and feel. But my eyes aren't big enough to say that. So instead I just ask question after question after question. Like each answer, whether from your mouth, your fingertips or your pen, could make me less thirsty.