April 28, 2023

 

Dear ghost,

I was wondering if you have shriveled up like me. Like that dried up daisy in fornt of the outlet.  In truth, I know not what my worth is. I believe I have vilely killed it. 

So I feel the desperate nostalgia for something that I have forgotten. Something that I was carefully knitting for. That unrestrained colour that winded into a scarf of my ambition. 

I could, I can, I should dance in the rain. But there are two many eyes that have not been. Too many dignity I had not before. Too many chains that I foolishly wore. 

I know not where i put the key to my garden. There must be a way. It must have been hidden all in an effort to guard it. There must be a worth in the garden. There must be some colour.

 But for now I only see the crime of my idleness. Or rather dishonorable vices.


Yours

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