I compose a mess of jumbled letters in hope, you read. Fought bravely my hands w ink, spilling thoughts, swelling tongue, sharpened teeth. Hosting dozens of perpetrators, alive witnesses & countless eyes on me. I compose a letter to you, my dream. After this is over, when we run and collapse in the yard of our home, when we make tea and toast, I will need you to read all these messy crumbs of me and collect them to beautify this ugly scene. And we shall lie— that this day we now live was easy, when our eyes worked wonders and not teary, when our fingers interlaced, the skin shifting, loosing all its youth, quite dreamy. After all this, we shall lie— that this was easy. I surrender to vicious worldly schemes. After all, I miss you in most possible desperation humanely. But in the hush of dusk, our hearts will find their rest, in quietude, the weary soul will be blessed until then i will be a mess .