#foryoutofind

[foryoutofind-blog]

Just finished my second batch. May who find these have the best of luck 😊

[roughmorning-blog]

They were Yours.

A million things have taken me back to you, as of late. And what has led me straight to your front door, toes pointed - eyes down was that I've found your hand writing swimming in an endless pool of words and images. I was certain - so certain it had to be yours - but it wasn't. At least not by your own hand. The subtle swoops and small drags where you couldn't be bothered to pick up the pen, they were Yours. The carefulness of the first letter to the right words, they were Yours. How the ends of sentences begged for the next one to follow, I was sure it had to be Yours - but it wasn't. I was sure I had to be Yours - but I wasn't. .S [...for you to find.] [ I keep finding myself wishing that it would be you. I turn the key to my old mailbox and for the most infinitesimal moment I hold my breath hoping to see an envelope with the traces of those familiar lines. So I am here. To tell you I wish you'd write - more importantly I wish you'd write to me. ]

[roughmorning-blog]

I could write a book about you.

[roughmorning-blog]

And in the most simple of worlds I would just call you and tell you that I missed you. I would tell you that beyond all of this that we are something bigger. And you would agree. But this world is far from simple. And you could never agree with me. So I will just listen to the rain pour down the other side of the glass and think of the times when you held me as these shadows touched my skin and the roar of the world seemed so much farther away.

[roughmorning-blog]

For the first time since I stopped missing his hands and how he once held mine - I heard his voice. It was so clear. It was my name - it was how he said it when we hadn’t seen each other for a long time - with ease and almost some sort of relief. He found me somewhere in between consciousness and sleep. And for that moment - I didn’t mind having a ghost.

S.