No good at writing love letters, or letters at all, for that matter

Dearest All,

I've written oh so many letters for you, and it is my intention to share them with you; what good is a letter without a recipient? (be they real or imagined, I know not, in this case: letters, recipients, intentions- real or imagined? I'm unwilling even to venture a guess.)

These letters are not the sort with which I am familiar: though written by me, they are soundless and writhing, leaving sentences as wet rotting wood. I'd intended them to be elegant things: poetic, even. Informed by crustaceans, by slime mold, by varicose veins, by racing hounds' legs; even with all these beautiful things to draw from, somehow, this letter isn't quite so nice as I'd hoped.

Nonetheless, my dearest All, I present to you this first letter:

With Warmest Regards,

1 comment:

  1. It is the most fluid unlovely thing I have ever seen.




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