Hello.
It has been raining hard and the house is starting to curdle. Lying under the moonlight sky, dry grass crackle under my hair, crickets whimper in the shadows, I gaze at the similar sky that sits on all of us. It is hard not to dream, not to think or run wild in your imaginary haven. Maybe its humanity's curse, we dream too much, expect too much, say too much, yet understand so little.

I was peering into her at a yesterday. She was choking in frustration, blinded by perception and untestified betrayal. We were in a red room filled with plush toys and simple dolls; she sat still on the rickety bed, head stooping low, hair stuck on her damp face. I just stood by the door and watched her weakly as voices crowded my thoughts - Family portraits weaved by love, not blood; pictorial momentums questioned by senseless remarks.

In my mind, I folded a paper plane and put it in my pocket.