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We have disagreements on matters of earth, ones you might not remember. You are starry eyed, starry night, starry sky, how could I possibly get you to look at the dirt?
My backyard has been torn to shreds by my father, but I still remember a time when it was bearable.
Where do werewolves come from? Like originally, I know where they come from now. They will always keep coming. Does it matter how we got the first? Maybe, maybe not, I couldn’t tell you. I feel like I should say yes, I feel like I should say of course it matters. “Should”s, however, don’t get anyone as far as they think.
There’s something beautiful here, I’ve uprooted enough trees to know. I’ve cried over roots enough. I’ve mangled roots enough. How are yours? Did we make the same choices? I think you tried to pot a plant, make sure the enclosure is big enough, we both know what it’s like to choke.
I don’t have a finishing line. I never did. Every letter I’ve ever written is a “to be continued.” And I’m pretty damn stubborn. I hope to remain this way.
Three robins used to live in my tree, I don’t know if you remember. I hope I always do. Even if their names now escape me...
I’ve always thought there’s a difference between untouchable and unreachable, but I’m not a walking answer key.
Is rain for the sky or the earth? There are a million answers. I don’t think any are correct but I’ve still picked one I like best.
