Two weeks have passed, Two weeks of bliss, stressful bliss, attempting to bring myself back to life.
My eyes have read two more novels and my hands have written far less pages.
The fibers of my pillow should be summoned, for in them, endless stories are embedded, it's where I lay my head that the thoughts linger.
The rain is constant and time ticks, but only if I listen, I am listening, and reading, and writing, and breathing.
The yearly plea is once again upon me, don't go back, stay, don't die in a classroom where there is nothing to teach and no one that listens to the stories. And when I go back, we will both forget who I am, so in these words find me, and if you are kind, read them to me.
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