An old love of mine told me to go into everything with love. I try so hard to remember what she said, after what I put her through it’s the least I can do. She was so wise, I miss her so much. But I digress, she was right. After how black a day I experienced yesterday, I thought there was some merit in taking notice of today. 

Atlas wears his name as a crown. He saved me today. I’m so happy to have met him. 

     I have succumbed to thinking disease of late. I blame Tweedledee. Today was so nice, but I find myself curled around sorrow in this darkness. The moon was huge at twilight yesterday. It’s so bright tonight, the air is just right. I wish I was outside surrounded by bodies, but my body has been overtaken by such a languidness I find I can’t bear to move. My bed is so small and empty. I just want to run away. Leave this flatness, and never stop running. I want to see everything and never stop moving. I can’t help but feel as if I am building a cage for myself that I may never escape. As of now the bars are transparent and pliable, I could escape. I could get away.

I share the same birthday as Zelda Fitzgerald, I’ve always found that to be such a romantic notion. 

I don’t know what I want anymore, and that’s what is driving me mad. 

Samson, you are far too entrancing for it to come to any good. May I scrawl secrets upon your hands?

I know too little of the Woman to give her an adequate name. Hopefully any day now. 

Addendum.

Robin Goodfellow, I never quite know what to make of you. 

Another year gone. I miss you kid, see you soon. Hope where ever you are, the weather is beautiful. It was sunny today, made me think of you.  

Much love,

Sandy

Happy Birthday. I’m sorry for my silence. I’m going to fix things. Promise.

Love,

Sandy

There is a river under my house, it’s leaking out from under the stairs.

May it wash me away, carry me through unending waltz. 

I can make out a single star; the clouds are moving to fast to tell.

I ache tonight, my fingers are dry and cracked. I am afraid they will crumble as I press them to my collar bone.

Such pain as this always returns me to words. 

I can’t have emotions anymore. 

I can only have art. 

I don’t warrant any help it seems, and this piece probably wont get finished because of it.

All I want is sunshine, bright and warm take this chill off my bones.

I can’t shake the feeling that I don’t really have a home anymore. 

What have I become? I don’t like what this unending flatness has done to me.

I keep blinking and losing months of my life.

The worst part is that I’m pretty sure that is simply how time and I have learned to waltz together. 

I know this month will be over soon. This work will be finished. This particular trial will end at some point. But god. It seems like I’ve been trapped here for too long. I know I’ll be ok.