I have read so many,

The books and the articles and the emails are arrangements of the same twenty six letters

So many characters have said they love me, under trees, sheets, and parasols.

I have seen it, typed, before.

When the weight builds up and crashes down, when my body contracts and my eyes water to expell the pain, I don’t trust them.

The words that have not been honest so many times before. It doesn’t really help, and I wish it did, but repetitions of patterns of letters have become over abused. I have abused them to dull the pain like painkillers and they don’t work anymore.

I’m sorry it’s not enough. But sounds, but touch, these I am not immune to. The unique signature of voice, of hands, of hearts pulled close- they bring okayness nearer. I am asking for them. This is why I try to call, this is why I have stopped reading books. I love you, I need you, I try to build a world where this is enough.