dear writer boy
i heard you moved to new zealand just like that, on a whim quit your "boring drab corporate" job the exciting world of payment gateways certainly won't miss you nor you it and you volunteer at a museum now and debate strangers on spirituality and religion under moonlit beaches, scribbled poetry, conversations spun from three glasses of wine my sworn atheist you wake up at 4am to go on sunrise hikes and collect wild bunnies and beautiful dogs as companions in your adventure chasing snow capped landscapes turquiose blue waters i still spy that notebook you used to have half of it for chewed up poetry half of it to track your ab workouts your silhouette, chiselled, caramel skin against the glimmering sunset is a verse of poetry too and five years ago, it would have turned my stomach to see you live like the main character in one of those stories only I could write I only sigh, I only smile it's a secret only I know dear writer boy, last year, I moved to a victorian beach town just like that, on a whim because I could my victorian home at the footsteps of white cliffs 3 times a week, i ran by the coast of the english channel i spent weekends in cambridge and london to see my best friends and paint the town red, crimson, mauve sometimes and wrote poetry on the train ride home and wrote poetry on beaches the barista knew me and my coffee order and I wrote poetry while she made it I read twenty four books last year and wrote poetry in the margins i hiked once every two weeks large fluffy dogs and I, would watch cinematic sunsets the chalk cliffs and I, in love and after a 15 mile hike would have whiskey in my fav hotel lounge and write poetry on napkins (and sometimes track my ab workouts) my love for you, was probably just an aspiration in disguise and perhaps I even achieved it a year before you did. I even loved someone else someone very much unlike you someone who simply saw me as his dear writer girl sincerely, writer girl
