think of me as a love letter between your fingers. cradle me and caress me. imagine that my spine is aged with a love that is older than my time on this earth. that my corners crinkle when i blush and that the creases in my body are similar to the scars on my thighs – i ‘ve been folded in two, in four. i don’t always fit my surroundings. imagine that i’m that ink stain that rests on your fingertips and that i carry permanent promises when you mark me and that i’m carved on paper and on bark, on bare walls and on crowded skies.
that i ‘m here for you to read on your loneliest nights. imagine that i weave my love through my words when i’m not there to weave my fingers through yours or toss your hair. that there is so much to say that my sentences run off the page. that despite this, i’m always ready to sign “yours” with a steady hand. i’m always ready to love you with a confident heart.
think of me as a love letter between your fingertips. come kiss my lips and open my lines. remember that i’m written in a language just for you; sometimes in braille, run your fingers on my body and read me; sometimes i’m written digitally, and that i stutter more when i write than when i speak – i’m still learning how to use certain words when you are around. be patient with me. know that my love screams louder than the pauses between unfinished syllables, the same way that it is more prominent than the miles between our souls and bodies. come and say hello to me and share your story with me.
share yourself with me.