#midnightletters

[openlettersfromandy-blog]

A “Camel”

It’s the chance between wanting and needing The cylinder to fill the spaces

It is a form of my potential energy, a stopper of my kinetic

The air hot with gasps for its cold, stale breath

I’ve never been so hungry for the taste of dried leaves glued to strips of paper - the color of traffic cones lining city streets

~

It is the source of all giving It is my savior from rain It is my crucifixion my resurrection The cure for all pain

The anecdote to this sickness they call living

It’s fire in the ninth circle, the only star in the first, It’s my last and the first of many more It is my own breath that he inhales; when he speaks

“Hey brother, you want a

light?”

-A.I.K

[dnpbstn]

"We rarely talk anymore. But that wasn't the problem. I'm okay to less talk; the obligation to speak or type whatever's in my head tires most of my brain regions. The problem is I get this feeling that you are slowly drifting away, not because our poles are the same, but because you are being attracted by an outer force that is much stronger than I am. And with that, there's nonthing more I can do – there's nothing left for me to do. A spark is called a spark for one reason: it does not last. It should either ignite into a flame, or die into thin air. Soon we might stop talking for good. And it scares me. A lot. But I'd get by. Or maybe not."