I like to take lonesome strolls through the fog
Pretend it’s a blank canvas
I pretend that I’m not where I am since I can’t see where I'm going and therefore I could be anywhere
So I think up a different life, one where I haven’t failed at the things my heart wanted so
Or feel as though I’ve been plundered barren
Instead, I see colors around me, vibrant
And people around me, unique
Not the washed out Xeroxed copies that bore my vision

Would you call me pompous for thinking that?
Or that it is coarse of me to expect more and to refuse this devoid?
Well I don’t care.

I’ll mislead my mind for a moment, or two, or three…or as long as I can
And pretend I’m impressed by you
That you make me feel like sitting in my dim room with the cold rain outside is like sitting in a meadow with warmth beaming on my skin
And that trusting you and wanting you here is as easy as the smile on my face after waking up from a pleasant dream
Thinking of these things makes it easier to breath for a while

Those are the things I think about when I walk in the fog

But when it clears it’s not as easy to pretend, so I suppose now I’ll try the old fashioned approach, and don’t throw this letter away

*To whom it my concern,

I don’t believe in prayer, so this is not that
I don’t believe in fate, so this is not that either,

Please get me to a place where I don’t fear. Long for. Cry from. Disappoint. Hurt. Want more.  

Yours truly,
Jenny