My little void,

 

What is making if not a constant unmatched effort? A baring of soul so raw, oyster in shell. Eat and it is done. The slow growing of the pearl, over quicker than feels right. I sit in your stomach and you absorb me and it is thankless work, to write like this. 

 

I will always wait on your response to my many letters. 

 

“I am, knowing it always is, a creature solely dependent on the good will of others. My spine is a rod of sea kelp. Bite into it. Taste my salt brine, know I am breakable. Crunching under your teeth so satisfying, but you don’t want to hurt me, do you. I pick up my sword anyway.” 05/21/26

 

“I love you like the whole world sharpens and silences in your presence. Like a fox pausing in its street crossing to look at you from many yards away. Scampers away. Like the fog settling over the mountains, and the fog burning off of the mountains. You quiet me, you alight me. I love you like a glacial erratic stands in the woods. I am firm and it would take a river of ice to take me from your pine needle bed, my ancient forest.” 05/05/26

 

“I feel many things and I feel them with a lot of force. I am afraid of being too much, I think I often can be. I am afraid of being too little, I can do this as well. So I am just myself, which is me. I wonder if you like me. I know you do. I wonder, still.

 

Let me know?

(I love you)” 04/0?/26

 

Writing love letters makes me feel so open and in the world, under the surface of a human tradition. Honesty is exposure. Love letters to partners, friends, myself, and strangers. To you, my void. 

 

I hope this begins to fill you, 

Finn