Day dawns damp
Yet her mind dreams droll
Idealisations of adoration
Dripping from a love note.
They would write not of what was right
What was beautiful:
How her hair,
A birds nest of knots
Makes the perfect home for fragile thoughts
To grow strong, feathered and flock.
How her skin,
Oft blemished and bruised
Carried her bones gently through the stormy days
That made capsize seem inevitable.
How her nose
Which she wished small
Always pointed the way to go:
Forwards. (She was not good at directions).
She dreamt of a note she would never receive
And although she took the time to grieve
The ‘loss’ of what never was,
She soon saw
Love notes are equal parts written as sent.
I close my eyes, I think of she,
I grab my pen, and write to me.
Illustration Nick Victor