Writing

A garden framed in wood; our first meeting 

Place. The rhythm of our lives intertwined

Like copper wires in the universe’s long

Circuit of love. Now our garden sits dead, 

Chairs

straightbacked for posture perfection

in neat rows

arranged up each step of the staggered blue-carpeted levels

sneakers and boots rooted

to the tiled floor

gray speckled white

You lived in a tower all your life,

Not knowing you were trapped,

Unaware of the chains that were woven into your mind.

How they kept you shackled,

Out in the woods you think you know,

But can you really let it go?

You will not see me slipping through,

Ready to leave at first sign of heavy snow.

No signs of me, only of you,

Mon ami, 

Toi qui vis de l'autre côté du monde. 

Nous sommes séparés pour l'éternité…

Ou, du moins, pour trop long. 

Mon ami,

I want you to be happy. First and foremost, I truly do. I also want you to hurt. I'm not sure if you will ever escape yourself, but if or when you do, I hope it is healing to you.