Day dawns damp

Yet her mind dreams droll

Idealisations of adoration

Dripping from a love note.

They would write not of what was right

But rather,

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.




Megan Hopkin
Illustration Nick Victor

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