I still had to write them, though. You have to say things, not just sometimes, all times. You have to take the thoughts out of the ether, pulling them down from the sky like clouds or satellites or stars, examining them, and then apply them to the paper. Even when nobody's listening. The papers, the ink, they're there to help you get it all out.
I miss you
I love you
Don't go away
Don't come back
I hate you
I can't remember what your face looks like
You know how it is. Stages, relationships, friends, lovers, enemies. I wrote letters, some like lyrics, some like songs, and some like long run-on sentences that didn't make sense. Short and long letters, and folded them, sealed the envelopes, and then I placed them inside of these boxes.
Would you read them if I sent them your way? Would the things that I had to say to you a year ago, two minutes ago, would those things even matter to you? People, how I miss you, you lost parts of my past.
