a letter to columbia

breathe.

it’s only another day.

inhale. exhale.   inhale.

i see a seat. i see an opportunity. but if i sit i’ll never get back.

in h a l e.

it’s freaking cold. damn. her song blasts over the engines. it’s a heartbreaking song. a peach was bruised awfully bad. it’s what happens when you don’t protect that furry skin.

ex h a l e.

ugh. i’m glad i didn’t sit. what about if i just squat here… i pause for a moment. No. Ahh shit, i’m tired though.

i’m writing another letter in my mind, ready to pour my heart out again. i get home and i write it. it doesn’t take long but it’s a mess. none of it makes sense. i don’t read it through, when you read it through you revise it, you perfect it. I leave it on my desk.

inhale. exhale. inhale.

the next morning i rip the letter in half. it has no place. it has no home. it has no meaning. they don’t want to hear. they don’t want to know. i don’t bother reading it before i rip it. i don’t want to know.

this is my place. this is my home. i can’t intrude anymore. i can’t cling to something that i don’t even know anymore.

the bohemian dress. the hand in the back pocket. the bubbles. the basement kitchen.

e x h ale.

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