Category: Epistles

-They swirl round in my consciousness, the fragments of the words I’ve been meaning to gather for you, and of the phrases I should have conjured. And every sound I should have whispered in the silences, when you were near. Each moment is transformed by diction; all creation was formed in such a way. A phrase initiated everything. The reason you and I stand, found ourselves, for a moment, in the kind of proximity which causes hearts to syncopate. Words, phrases, and the remnants of those moments inundate the synapses of consciousness, my consciousness. My heart loses its own cadence […]

-With the blinds dancing in the night’s breeze, my heavy eyes collapse and I’m off to somewhere else. This place, there is beauty, there is memory, the memories, every moment that I’d wished I’d been able to capture, not so merely in the mind, but on film, in the grains of silver. These images, all of you; they are you, one smile to another; the moments in which I felt your breath in my lungs as I breathed. They come back to me as you twirl, the you I carry with me, through dreams and the many moments through the […]

-I want to sit with you as time dissipates, revel in the moment lost, after the moment lost, after the moment. Lost. I want to breathe in deeply, consuming the bit of you that stays with me and wakes me in the dusk, right before the dawn, because I do not want it to be merely a brilliant blissful dream. I want to feel butterflies in the cavity of my body, the crawling of emotion along my spine, stimulating nerve endings, catapulting breath from my lungs, a sensation akin to the breathlessness of proximity, which you bring me. I want […]

– I wonder about your existence, in the moments when you are most real. You are like smoke. Its permanence, even after it disappears it is still there. You are no different. The scent of you, though I cannot identify it, I have breathed it in. It has not left me, lingers inside me calling up the images of you I’ve captured in the shared moments between us, sparse and too few. How much of you have I created? When I am most consumed by you, I fear most, that you are completely unreal. Perhaps, that each of those moments, […]