each day i am in your presence
is an act of divine grace
a gentle reminder of the purity of your being.
the sweet air of your soft love instigates in me
a forgetfulness of all afflictions.

my dear,
your compassion is without limits,
the faults of all are ignored
as your kind hands of friendship
form the shape of acceptance.

you are the whitest of doves
the shelter from this cold, hard world
such beauty could only be complimented
and never outdone

when at my lowest
I think of a place
the beautiful plane of existence
that is being in your arms.

It's in a deafening pleasure,
where I escape
to the warm fields of love and embrace

the fear I choke on
from inevitable wars
the existential anxieties
of daily routines
everything I can manage
And everything that I can't
all disappear, as I study your face

if we could stay like this forever,
that would be all I need.

Dear Courtney,

My dress was soaked by the slippery wet road in Mayhem. I thought I was parading with the other women here. Yet, I escaped this hell of a home. I cannot wait to see you again. I am on train 25, and the bay is bluer than usual. The clock strikes 12 in the afternoon. The sky is breathtakingly painted on the canvas with the clouds' fur orbiting each other.

I sit here, while I cannot take my eyes off the greens. It is the first time in a while, but it has always been nostalgic with you here. The trees stand there, and the train moves at its monotonous pace. This time, I am thanking this train for its urgency. Maybe it wants us to see each other again. Just you wait, Courtney. Tomorrow, we will see each other again.

It's dawn, and the morning breakfast is here in front of me. It is a complete set. Just like what you like. Tea, toasted bread, egg, and tomato. Ah, I thought I saw you sleeping here beside me. Am I doing it again? Wait for me, dear friend, for I will see you now.

There the trees and the mountain face me. The scenery is telling me a story. A memory of you and me. Ah, dear friend, it is almost evening. I hope you're thinking of your friend here while you're taking a sip of your wine.

The train has stopped, and I am here now, Courtney. I hope this letter reaches you, dear friend.

"She's really a writer, huh?" The nurse said while she read me Cordelia's letter. I nodded and smiled.

"How was she?" I asked. The lump in my throat was so heavy that I could not breathe.

"She's resting peacefully in the bay of Mayhem, Courtney." The nurse then held my hand.

"Do you think she's happy?" I asked her.

"Hon, her eyes will give you life. Of course, she is." She kissed me on the forehead and pushed my wheelchair.

"You will have life again, Courtney. I will see you after the operation."

My dress was soaked by the slippery wet road in Mayhem. I thought I was parading with the other women here. Yet, I escaped this hell of a home. I cannot wait to see you again. I am on train 25, and the bay is bluer than usual. The clock strikes 12 in the afternoon. The sky is breathtakingly painted on the canvas with the clouds' fur orbiting each other.

"Thank you for your eyes," I whispered, and tears began to well up. The wind hustled, and the trees hurried to drop their leaves.

I took out my notebook and pen. I wrote how the scenery by the bay gave me comfort.

Cordelia, I hope this letter reaches you.

I don't know what you've done to my heart
It burns, it throbs, with every word you speak
I never knew I could feel this from the start
Yet here you are taking me to my highest peak

My heart yells out yet you never really noticed
My mouth kept shut as it bled with longing
I didn't want to admit it, but the truth really is;
all this time I've really been falling

Now we have little time left to spend together
My hands do the work and express my own heart
My chest still bleeds but this is for the better
This is my fourth goodbye, C, right before we depart