may old-fashioned letter writing never go out of style.
as long as there is ink in my fountain pen and crisp sheets of blank paper in my drawer, a pot of coffee warm on the kitchen counter and space between my head and the ceiling i shall WRITE and hope that you shall write me back.
i am in the midst of wishbone thinking.
the carcass has been stripped and the bones exposed.
my sheets are white and freshly cleaned.
my clothing ironed and soaked in fabric softener.
there's breakfast for dinner.
there's a matinee at the theatre.
there is hot water.
the walls are peeling and the brick is exposed.
there are musical greeting cards.
there's a game on.
the martinis are dirty.
the fish are swimming.
there is food in the fridge.
his jawline is rough and defined.
there are cheeky innuendos.
my violent shivers have subsided.
the baby turtles are scrambling for the shore.
i have depeche mode playing in my head.
my nailpolish is chipping and needs repainting.
there are people coming to visit.
there are letters addressed to me.
there is well-versed conversation.
there is a wad full of crisp banknotes.
there is fever in the air.
there is no mention of getting out of bed.
there's gossip girl
there's anticipation and fluttering wings in my chest.
the wishbone remains whole and unbroken.
should it snap?