Sunday, February 9, 2020

You speak to me in murmurs and colors. The world I see and touch is not the one I walk through with you. The treasures in my pockets are so ordinary when looked at in daylight.

Invisible, unheard, yet here you are with me as we sit. Oh my friend, thank you for the gifts you place whole in my clay jars.

When you are here with me, my breathing clears, slows, and my chest loosens. Is there some other gift one might wish for beyond this?

(Letter #1,856)