And when it comes to her.
She leaves little to no room for any moment to be occupied by something else.
Even with that being said. It still feels like there isn't enough time in the day.
No matter what happens.
I'll always remember how it feels.
The stroke of her cheek against mine.
Trapped together in a cardboard box.
Frame by each corner.
A genuine box. Wrapped tightly in the gentle caress of arms.
It seemed like a good idea. Provoking each other's silliness.
Considering how attached we were, it really seemed like a good idea.
No special paper, no gift wrap.
Just scrunched up faces in a small space. Trying to figure out how to tape ourselves in.
Postage stamps sealed to the side.
In deep thought wondering where we'd end up next.
If only we could keep one flap closed while one of us taped us in.
I suppose it would be easier if we brought tickets and boarded a plane.
But wheres the fun in that.
Mailing ourselves away for a day or two
Realizing that the best things in life are free

I always wish
That hand-writing
A letter
Didn’t go out of style.

I miss the excitement
Of getting something in the mail.
Opening a hand addressed envelope
And reading the words sent to me.

But now
All I get in the mail
Is bills and unwanted
Or needed, advertisements.

+91364727-37474838

BLACK MAGIC, **** YOUR WIFE, **** A TEENAGER, *** TO MOUTH, FREE PROSTATE EXAM.


Try writing from your heart, with a hand that won't  quit shaking, and lungs that might explode from anxiousness, only to see your words
be drowned out by a combination of words made to make cents, but heavy lacking on sense. A mind that cycles is like a firefight with your synapses looking for that spark. It's electrifying and mind-blowing, these moods that take months to overcome. Electrifying are the manic months, ones where you hide bank statements, where you penetrate a woman both mind and body. Mind-blowing is the depression, and the barrel of a pistol clenched between your teeth, as you open up your junk mail hopelessly searching for a letter sealed with a kiss.
But it doesn't exist.

Hey! You got mail
And I hope that without fail
That this makes your day
Because this is a unique way
of having a conversation.
Something of our own creation
to actually put pencil to paper
to let thoughts form and thoughs taper
It's more permanent than a text
because you won't read it this day or the next
it's the delayed gratification
the building anticipation
the surprise of not getting a bill
that makes writing to you such a thrill

I say good bye ten hundred times a day.
If a could catch a glimpse of you looking my way.
A positive High
Hello

mailing with you
is between a song from Jack Johnson
with different feelings

from sitting, waiting, wishing
to reading, writing, listening
to sitting, waiting, wishing