Gah

that post was for nobody really. just the rain that makes me like this every year. pathetic.
i could write to the dearest swollen wood at the creak of the bathroom door even

to whomsoever it may concern

Dearest

I am listening to angels sitting by my windowsill and wanting to live again
Between the curtains and the rain

I want to fall through your hair, and levitate between the flotsam rain that does not fall and does not rise. Waiting for fish to fly

one more time

and dream of yellow laburnums kissing in the streets
one more time

and be a fool again one more time