Sunday, March 14

Rat tat tat.
Rat tat tat.
It's been too long.
Really. What are my excuses?
The air is cold out. So cold to my delicate lungs. Holding a delicate air and a delicate place.
Shattered china. Shattered muses.
Fevered dreams and fevered mutterings. A peak out the cold window. The sun has been setting for hours now.
Gentle, weak sun glimpses through the trees as I fall into dreams again and again. Oceans and curved buildings.
Stone observatories in the ocean. Winding stairs so frigid and uninviting.
I need hot tea and books. Wool socks and a someone to read to me.
This is all that I need, in this moment of time.
Is recognizing your needs bad?
My throat stings, burning and writhing.
Chills and fevers.
Enveloping and folding. Over and over.
Cold and hot.
So lonely. So lonely.
I dream of cracked dishes and pale walls. Such beauty.
Little houseplants and a furry cat roaming the cupboards. A little home. Of my own. So quiet. So alive. So dear.
In green lush beauty. All my own. Rain pounding on warped windows. Hush hush of the roaring fire.
Life is so simple.
Paints upon paints.
Like a canvas heavy with paint.
I am bending.
I need understanding.
Too much. To ask.
I am fevered dreaming.
I am cold chills.
Lonesome nights.
Waiting for your call.
I miss you.
Your eloquent words. My eloquent words.
Of wooden floors and white beds.
I'll be waiting. I'll be waiting.

written by callie chapman

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