[littlelostnotes]

He doesn't like the cold because he can't appreciate the poetry of winter

He doesn't understand

[littlelostnotes]

Dear Abundance,

It is taking me too long for me to finally look at you. You look different than I initially imagined you might, When I conceived of you in a dream over a year ago. You no longer represent the heavy burdening of new opportunities for which I was grateful for but instead have twisted yourself into a morbid and indulged creature, that looks hollow and perhaps without purpose.

A shapeshifter and something I hardly recognize. I cannot call you Abundance when you are not whole. I cannot call you Abundance when you are not even the slightest bit sated. The way you claw your own throat, choking on the wings that might actually free you if you stopped trying to swallow them. I'm not sure what to call you now. You are just not Abundance.

Maybe... you are more akin to Greed.

You are a poor creature. A creation of my own twisted and self interested emotions. I love you and I'm scared of you and I long to know you. The quietest loud pieces of me.

As desperate as I am to know you I am becoming insatiably desperate to move on from you. And the sooner that I can cleanse my mind and my heart that compels me to create this painting, the sooner I can release myself from the burden I once thought I knew to be called Abundance.

A hypothetical name for you: "What did I expect?"

[littlelostnotes]

Sometimes I think when I wake up, ill be back in our apartment and everything is going to feel safe again

Then I ask myself why I made my home out of our prison

Why did we hold ourselves hostage for so long

And why do I miss it

[weltenwellen]

Carol Rifka Brunt, Tell the Wolves I’m Home

[soracities]

My throat is sore. It has mountains lost in it.

Hasti, from "All of the Light That Reaches Earth" (After Rachel Jones & Radiolab), pub. The White Review

[littlelostnotes]

Sometimes I wonder if we'd love each other if we met only yesterday or if me still being this clumsy would make you second guess

Sometimes I wonder if I am too early

If you had met me when I am older, and better, then maybe we could have skipped all the time we've spent hurting each other

Maybe hurting each other isn't something I can grow out of

But I'm trying

[flowerytale]

Frank O'Hara, from “Biotherm (for Bill Berkson)”, The Collected Poems

[pendraegon]

[ID: the moon is rising / I am always thinking of the moon rising / I am always thinking of you. END ID.]

[metamorphesque]

― Patricia Highsmith, The Price of Salt

[weltenwellen]

Susan Sontag, As Consciousness Is Harnessed to Flesh

[littlelostnotes]

I'm glad to know that the love I have grown for you has been true all along. And I'm glad to know that I can feel the swelling of my chest and pour over with love knowing you are in love with someone else. I can fall maddeningly and happily in patient love with the way you love and feel peace in knowing it's not with me, and probably shouldn't be. I can steal moments of time and humor those "what ifs", but I feel satisfied knowing you, knowing you are happy and knowing you are in love. I can feel satisfied with that, for now.

[littlelostnotes]

I loved you.

It was patient. Distant. But it was persistent.

My love is vast and ever flowing. It changes. It adapts. It persists.

It terrifies me. It hurts.

I hurt you. I loved you.

I'm sorry.

[littlelostnotes]

Would you ever come back? I come here to remind myself of the echoes of love I wrote about. Sometimes I write little notes to myself and wonder if they'll ever make their way to you. I'm content with them sitting here to rot, however. There's no way I could write to you, otherwise. Not like this.

There's no way I could labor over the ways I miss you to your face. To tell you that I long for our conversations and that I miss your mind and how it worked. Your humor. I miss your humor and our shared laughter. Your hands. I miss connection to you.

I'm gullible.

[littlelostnotes]

I'm sorry, Icarus. I loved you the only way the sun could.

[melaninmedicine]

Intro

My condolences to anyone who has ever lost me and to anyone who got lost in me or to anyone who ever felt they took a loss with me, my apologies for the misunderstanding or the lack there of. I’m sorry you missed the God in me and I’m sorry you missed the light. I’m sorry you forgot the way I arose like the moon night after night with the burden to forgive, eager to feed you everything

[littlelostnotes]

I tell myself to be stronger. not so they can build their homes out of me, but so they can't break the door down in the first place.

I am not your shelter, I am the storm.

[soracities]

I've told you that I'm old. I was then too. Not as old as now, but old all the same. There's been a weariness in me for a very long time. I don't know the reason for it.

Mihail Sebastian, Women (trans. Phillip Ó Ceallaigh)

[stardrifting]

touch starved but for physical violence