I wanted you to write me one of your dumb, short, letters. I love your stick-figure drawings. You always draw my neck too long and your hair is a clown wig of Z’s. I thought I saw you today going around a corner. My guts lurched. My heart hurt. I miss you in my bones. When I feel the most misunderstood is when I want to hear you in my kitchen, burning cookies or stirring something fragrant with a wooden spoon.
Katzcrunch 