Photo by Charlotte Le Bon via Instagram
the ink spells.
the hand drags.
the pen pauses. they are uncertain.
[don't mess this up]
the letter opens with scribbles of carefully timed affection and subtle passes.
this could never work. [oh, but it can. love Can always work. are you in love?] am i in love? not yet.
ignore the pen, drag the hand. close your eyes
let the words fly
[you're writing with your heart now.]
the fear shuffles to the back of your soul, it is shadowed by the overpowering hope that the universe might decide to go easy on you, this time around.
Can you love me? not yet.
our letters will arrive in each others squeaky mailboxes, the faded college-ruled paper I found at the bottom of my bag is crumpled from being hesitantly held just a little too long by clammy hands and the envelopes sealed with our mouths are the closest we may ever come to kissing
and though the mail man has our very hearts in his hand, i enjoy stuffing my daydreams in a package and wishing them to your door step. don't give up just yet.