better to write for myself and have no audience, than to write for you and lose myself

Boredom

Hello my friend.

I’ve been waiting for you.

I went to the woods where it was too cold to enjoy the trees

I sat.

And wrote.

And played.

And painted.

And finally I took my tiredness and looked for you.

You led me back.

There in your lap I sleep until I dreamt of myself.

You buried me inside of you.

You reminded me of the me that I once could see.

Scratch I can't itch.

You.