words are coming
You may ask me why its been so long since ragged words spilled from numb fingers, or how long has it been since you’ve drank the still, mountain air.
It’s been a while, I tell you.
But I’ve been writing all along, slow words wrapped in a dark package, memories of a girl from an airplane, dreams too dark to remember.
Nature has drawn me in though, but in self-pity and false promises I watch it from a window most days. There is something about seeing it through a pane of glass that make me feel as if I have one foot outside of this world.
Words are coming, better words than I’ve written in a long, long while.
But until then I lay alone at night, watching the shadows crawl across the ceiling and dream of someone else’s nightmares.
I hope it all turns out okay.