The ground beneath me
The sun above me
The prayer inside me

You are the everything
that I need.

Do you ever lay your head down,
and feel like the rush of memories will drown you?

Look for my hand

Breaking the surface

Begging pleading praying

To be rescued.

If you are a wildfire,
then I am the hollow trees.
Surround and swallow me,
consume and crush me.

Burn me from the inside out.

Let me show you the hidden treasures of the night,
guiding you with cold hands and
a wild heartbeat.

We'll find the most beautiful place:
far from the warm paved roads,
from the noises of the city,
from the lights.

Follow me,
speak to me with your touch and
I'll listen.

Lay with me;
we'll soak up the dampness of the summer air and
let the quiet of the darkness swallow us whole.

I can see the entire galaxy in your eyes,
and you are the only wish
I want to make.

This was a handwritten letter that wasn’t patient enough to wait in the mail. I am a supporter of writing letters.

Our world is drifting from the simplicity of pen and paper. We love to complicate things in life.

I hope this letter can be a simple reminder that there is happiness and hope, even in darkness that reminds you of ink.

The first time I saw you my mind raced to memories of summer days at the beach; campfires; the sound of the ocean.

I thought, “She has no idea how beautiful she is. It doesn't cross her mind that girls envy her and men desire her. She is too concerned with the sound of laughter, and how it makes the darkness step back.”

I make a lot of assumptions, mostly unjustified, about people I cross paths with. But I am sure you are justified in feeling like royalty. You look like happiness.

A fort in the living room that looks like a castle, and cookie dough that tastes like heaven. If the opportunity crosses my path, I would give anything to meet you.

If you walked in front of me, I would think you were a shooting star and make a wish.

Don’t change. Shine unapologetically. You illuminate the humans around you.

Admittedly, the desire to write this letter is still unknown. The desire is there and so here are the words.

Time does not heal,
but pours salt in my wounds.

In the seconds and the minutes,
the hours in each day, every day,
it burns a hole through my heart.

Time seems to disappear and drag,
all at once;
And no matter if I keep track
or forget the amount passed,
the hurt remains.

Time is the torturer,
and it never softens its grip.

It's in the sound of the crashing waves,
the feeling of the warm earth under my feet,
the smell of salt in the summer air.

It's in all of these simply beautiful things that I
see, feel, hear, smell
love
you.