charlotte

i have money now,

and i have freedom now,

but now i just miss what i had before.

i’m in this strange purgatory -

you are supposed to spend your

early 20s being wild and free and

not caring and going out and

i don’t even know but a bunch of stuff

that i’m not doing and i

feel like i just

don’t care to do any of it

can’t be bothered,

it would be better alone,

forwards, at least,

i know it’s impossible but

i think i’m regressing,

not sure to what form

or what version but

something i don’t want

it’s been years since i wrote you.

i’m sorry.

i had people to talk to,

for a while.

so i took a hiatus.

but have no fear!

i’m back, as me as ever.

and i’m a woman now (?)

which is crazy.

and i’m in love (?)

which is crazy.

and i’m actually kind of happy (?)

which is crazy.

but i don’t know how long things will last.

i’ve started feeling things lately,

that i haven’t felt in years,

things that scare me,

things that make me want to run away,

but i don’t have anything to from now (?)

which is, kind of, the worst part,

because there’s no end to it.

it’s just, life?

while i waste away

you remain unchanged

and i don’t know

whose fate is worse

but we certainly

aren’t moving in

no end in sight

work to the bone

or make someone else

this is life,

this is it now

not sure what to do,

yet not enough time in the day

in the blink of an eye,

once you notice,

and water pools at my feet,

as i frantically scrub,

at all of the dirt,

that doesn’t budge,

and then i see you through the glass:

standing in the doorway,

staring intently.

and i try to hide,

but there is nowhere to go,

so when you step in,

and i can’t move,

and you come closer,

and i can’t hide,

and you stare,

and stare,

and all i want,

is to disappear,

i’m scared of a little life,

not because i want a ‘big’ life,

but because little is finite

life is finite, of course,

in terms of time,

but ‘little life’ isn’t about time,

there’s something else,

that makes it so bitter,

‘little life’ is bounded,

by whatever makes it ‘little’

and not just ‘life’.

little life takes away the agency,

implies you cannot change,

beyond some threshold.

…….

by that logic, isn’t describing

a life as ‘little’ prescribing to

the belief that we cannot change our future?

that destiny is set in stone?

because if we could / it wasn’t,

we would have infinite possibilities,

making a little life impossible?

::::::::::

anyways ……..

that makes no sense,

but that’s all i have to say

little lives scare me,

i just want a life,

unbounded,

this little life

this little life

trying to get my mouth

to say the words

and trying to get my heart

to love them.

but it’s like trying to

swallow pills without water.

it makes me gag.

i can’t do it.

i know it’s true

but i am so scared

because I have no one else

to send letters to

so dear girl the mirror

i wish something else would inspire me,

keep me up at night,

drive me insane,

but all i ever do is sit and write love poems,

dedicated to all the people i’ve loved,

or almost loved,

or never loved at all,

over and over,

again and again,

i don’t know how not to fall,

i’m hopeless,

always a different,

yet the same, muse

i keep writing love poems,

that the most beautiful seasons,

must come through transition

you can live in endless summer,

or never leave the snow,

but leaves can’t fall forever,

and if you blink

you’ll miss the green before things bloom

in a few months,

i will curse myself,

and crave the kiss of the sun,

but if it weren’t for rainy days, or frostbite cold,

i would never appreciate

a clear blue sky,

and green grass,

and orange and red and yellow leaves,

that crackle under my feet,

and the pink flowers,

that you smell for blocks,

and the first morning of spring,

when you realize that you only have