Sent mail: save this for later, it's too many words to start your day...

what do you do when what slides from between the covers in the morning is just a slip of the self, a placeholder pressed flat and soft between the layers of a forgotten tome whose blank pages stare at blank faces. it was too much when the sun spilled over the shrug of the horizon and i began to dissipate, dissonant, with the call of the mourning dove, why such a struggle, love? why have these hours rested so heavy on eyelashes and now concentrate into rainshadows on the moment at hand that feels far from the heartstrings so quiet when too many milestones converge into one heavy load. it's hard to wake with a soft heart beneath a thin shell. it's hard to inhale when the air is thin up here on a pinhead pedestal meant to have all the foundational support of other conquerers, other empires, no more vast than these hopes for a different tomorrow when i will not be beside myself, watching this slack play out in foreign ways, too tongue tied to struggle, to nightnipped to break the day away and replant it as a cutting that won't wound, too preoccupied to pinch myself awake from these musings and get on with it all... ah friend. i'll apologize for these stranger ramblings but this day hasn't begun and already it is too much too much too much ... once these longer hours approach perhaps these thoughts will settle to feast on some other's hopes but for now the gnawing was too loud and so i had to speak it silent in this way....