Crisp.

Looking through all these years,

searching through all the layers.

This feeling, it explodes through me,

and it chases away

and it runs away,

it's infectious

and hopeless

and desperate

and homeless.

Those moments weren't lost on me,

I'm grasping at nothing,

whole pages disappearing

in this cold wind storm.

So long long long ago

without you,

I heard you,

I kissed you,

I felt you.

These are whole letters addressed to me,

with my name in your writing

my laughter in your typing.

Catching myself getting caught in

examples of broken,

the damage

of reckless,

the theory

of cotton.