To you who maybe smells like the highest notes of whiskey and smoke.
To you who dwells in the space between closeness and a secret self.
There is no difference between you and the memory of you,
No difference between the memory and the future.
You are my favorite story to tell myself before bed.
Even more when you tell me the story yourself.
After all, the storyteller is the only survivor of the fairy tale endings.
Carry me home, my love.
Wherever that is today, tomorrow, and after that.
love letter collection
12:09 PM EST
Sunday, January 15, 2011