I hope you are well. I imagine you sitting there, next to the sweet smelling wooden boards of the cedar chest I last saw you in. I hope all is well, and that nothing has compromised your tender composition of a time I wish I could have had or know.

Things in color are less vibrant than you may remember- but do not fear; still I have times where I glow as I did when our timelines first crossed. Often I am thinking of what you are doing and the scent in the woods and bakery in your background. The feel of the sunshine I can not see in your world... or mine; most of the time, you always remind me it was there and so I am to also seek it.

I've recently booked a weekend away. Somewhere I have never been. I made sure to set the plans enough weeks away, so that I can deal with all my impartialities with merely forgetting about the tickets rather than seeing it through. Most likely I will feel slight regret from tomorrow until the days just before I am to leave of the could be skipped weekend- in those times, I will think of you. I will recall how I felt when I first saw you- how beautiful your memory felt to me. How alive I am when I think upon your charming gaze back at me when first I saw you there, in a time I will never know... how you seem to preserve 'happy' so earnestly. I will think of that charm perhaps being there for someone else someday, when perhaps my trip will offer them a glimpse into something 'more' and just out of reach... inspiring the desire for time travel and a moment of shade and a smile meaningful enough to capture for someone else to experience.

Until I see you again,

Now

Write.

the second we have all shared, at least once.

There is a wound on my arm- from the cigarette I put out on it while I was high. I can both see and feel it now. At this moment I will do nothing, for in the morning I may be a different person and see things as they should be and not as they are right now. Seems like it should not be there, I have not smoked in years- - - and yet there it is and festering at that.

Perhaps I will wake happy- clean and medicate the wound, even hope it will heal. Maybe I will wake up and be exactly who I have been as of late- cover it and do nothing, secretly trying to do the mental math on how long it will be until it will kill me. I could easily rid myself of the wonder and just go back to the drug that got me here in the first place; listen to the resolve of shooting off the arm while listening to something obscure by Tiny Tim, and live stream the blood mixing with the water in the sink. I may even want to find out how this less-than came to be.

Since humans seem to often say, things will look different in the morning- I guess I will see how it looks in the morrow and decide then.

Shred the checkbook, you only wrote five in the last twenty years.

Release the birds; tear down their facilities and free them from the yard.

Buy a few things you want to enjoy while you live out the rest of the toothpaste.

Purchase a few strange but modern items- to be left untouched in classy handle bags.

Polish the appliances.

Gift a stranger a large amount of cash, in fifty-dollar notes.

Clear out your closets, and fill one with high quality toilet paper.

Each day drink an overly saturated with health options protein drink; small chain only.

Hide nine thousand, nine hundred, and ninety-nine dollars in cash in the house.

Establish your wardrobe with an ending thirty one new outfits; to be worn once each.

Donate everything but the trappings of the house at its best, and the thirty one hangers.

Replace every lightbulb in the house- low watt warm bulbs, not LEDs.

Establish and pre-pay for lawn service through the end of the season, and next year.

Set up fresh flower delivery subscription for a year.

Put all important paperwork in one place, under a shoe box full of lottery scratchers.

Open a bank account out of town, use it to set up subscription boxes to end when emptied.

Bury something weird.

Tape degrees behind the wall art.

Stock pantry and ice box with artisan consumables- neatly.

Make a list of all the things you wake up thinking about every morning.

Mail something to childhood address.

Swing at the park you see in your mind everyday since 1999.

Vandalize something with kindness.

Drive until you run out of gas, stay in the city you buy fuel and talk to strangers.

Visit someone from your past who you do not like.

Fast in full silence for 24 hours.

Eat cherry pie, twice.

Be happy.

put out the dried fruits, cherries and figs

next to the soaked cakes of tea and honey

set your table with the finest salts

don a pleasent attitude

offer too much wine

a stained glass bottle of yesterday's rainwater

expect nothing less than what your company will bring

petty greetings, consumption for the sake of expected judging

right there as you dine

converse of things similar you have not offered

things you clearly thought less

deliver greasy delicate meats to be eaten just with hands

watch at the challenge of affect reaming through effect

serve a single flower in hot water rather than hand towels

leave the evening just before it's close

say nothing as you slip away

offer no good - night