I'd like to move to a big city: big, Big, BIg, BIG, BIGGG! Not too big, though. Just big enough for my body and Lucy's bark. She gets so loud sometimes, you know? The city has to be big enough for my books. Lots of space. Bookshelves and coffee stains in the kitchen.
But I'm stuck. I'm stuck in a hole that traps me underneath piles of rotting trauma and heartache, but no one helps me out. They see me, though. Trust me. I know they can see me. The death in my life shows in my walk. The way I carry my legs one after the other is like carrying thousand-pound weights though the Sahara.
I feel too warm and sticky. I feel..I feel...I feel....emptiness. Why won't you answer my prayers? You know I'll keep calling. I'll keep writing you 'til you answer. I like to hear myself think. I like writing you these letters. I'm gonna find you and make you hear me, hear? You won't leave me to rot like the rest.
