postcard from the mountains

We grow lonely

living among things

The squeaking door

The loose doorknobs

The ticking clock
The cracked walls

And peeling paint

Everything we feel is already felt

Everything we write has already been written

Everything we see has already been seen

In midst of everything and nothing

We tend to look for something

That comforts us

A hug to calm

A shoulder to lean

A heart to heal

A soul to unify

And a smile to assure us that we aren't alone

I hope this book does the same for you.