Someone told me that through restlessness is born creation.
I have a restless heart and soul. (You knew that. You saw that.)
I’ve always had, and the only way I can make sense of this world is through words.
We’re all waiting to be heard. Open mics, a breezy veranda, echoing classrooms.
Our poetry was different. It was quiet. It was brimming with dreams. Our dreams.
With you, everything made sense.
You’re the only word I’ve ever needed.
There is now a permanency in the absence of that word,
And I try not to cave in, but I know I will sometimes.
I’m doing my best.
I’ll see you soon.