My tongue will savor and trip over Chincoteague, Baltimore, DC, Eastern Shore. Letters spill out of boxes from a life packed up, tucked in to pages of books, in pockets of jackets. They hit me when I am unprepared, a surprise punch to the gut with just my address in familiar print. The same tiny envelope.
“I’ll close my eyes.. then I won’t see.. the love you don’t feel when you’re holding me..”
(photo reblogged with new words by me)