the layers of letters, bills, pleas, old poems, and forgotten lines beckon my sense of duty but my need to create keeps me here in this sanctuary of words and imaginings where I find peace other worlds and my soul
— /..\ >@< when the house is otherwise empty aside from me, the senses of you seek out the most minuscule of things to woof at, a fault line between loneliness and apprehension slips a little in the path you must take to sniff my hand as it gestures your tiny pitched notes into the silent end of this open space—