Dearest Dawn, please come find me.

And I thought to myself in those hollow hours just before the dawn, those hours that swallow up years as they creep eerily on and on…
I thought to myself then: “It’s impossible, how can I? How is it doable, how could it be? How could a phone catch a dream like a cup can with tea?” and so blankly I stared at my phone’s empty screen, just as blankly, I’m sure, as it did back at me.

“Still, I must trudge on, for though a thousand and one menial worries pursue me late into the night, once the dust of their fidgety activity settles, I make clear behemoths from far beyond the horizons of sight.”
Again I found myself stalling at the foot of a mountain too tall to summit with even the mind, with even a thought, yet again I picked myself up and continued to climb my sleep’s insurmountable wall.

Words, words. When put the write way they can make a man’s day or tear from his skull his sanity’s stay. “O! Please, don’t go. I’ve come on this journey by an accident’s bet, and still wish to declare what’s not been said yet. I wriggle and writhe against the beach of my burdens and the swells of high tide. My limbs are all aching; my breast hammers and clammers beneath the force of each wakening... I mustn’t, I mustn’t be thrown from its scent. My focus, my focus is skewing, skewing, now bent.”

I’m lost, yes I’m lost, as I pay the dear cost of composing on black screens and silicon frost. I feel a storm coming, my thought surges black, but this time it’s thoughts of the keys locking me dead in my tracks. “Stop it you fool!” I screamed to the night, “Don’t you- now don’t you go off and lose sight of that which soon must be said.”
So I type and I tatter, I try and I spatter; my life’s but a battle against all the latter. Look at me now, all tangled in tangents and grammar. The letters I followed here promised me more, confusion I guess, was what they’d instead, or rather in store. But still I’ve not spoken what soon must be said “God help me to utter it before I’m found dead.”
What was it? What was it? It’s fled from my head.
There’s no such thing as the moment, and the moment you realize it’s finally let go is the moment in which your lost thoughts you’ll all know.

“The mere kiss and its pleasure is the treasure I miss, yearning for merely her sweet, supple lips. The her could be anyone, anywhere, any day now. And though I’ve tried to be taken, as if by surprise, my yearnings are petulant with their deafening cries; I’m left not alone, or rather I am, and that’s just the stone, the rock, and the hard place I’ve two years now roamed.” The wars clash inside me, but gladly I’ll show the monsters I slay to anyone anywhere any old day.
Sometimes ‘tis only the height of our sufferings that can show us the way, the way unto dawn, her safety, and the warm bosom of day. I’ve tried and I’ve tried to close tired eyes such that each piercing gaze startles not coy morning and her heavenly rays. But still here am I, awaiting blue skies with eyes open wide, because all that I rigged up for life ensured that it died; I do believe it’s called birth, a traumatic event, yes indeed. But for all that it’s worth, not even in spite of the strife we’re dealt by cruel life nor the time we spend while lost amidst the darkest ravines should we ever welcome, encourage, or permit defeat in our midst. For though our souls are all fragile, more so than any of us dare to admit, there’s still something down here that’s damn sure worth living for. A glimmer of sun, that prospect of which shines too, yes even for the hopeless. So as long as there’s breath in their lungs and life on their bones, there’s potential for them to emerge from the caverns of despair, those jagged piles of sharp stones, and greet the sweet light with thier smiles once more. Tomorrow I’ll find her, or she’ll come find me; in either case, together we soon both shall be.
Sincerely,
t^3 | r&n

