Dear Page/ Dear Screen/ Dear Void,
I'm writing because I haven't written. You poor neglected beast.
I haven't been writing but I've been thinking my head.
Thoughts that are better left unsaid.
Those hasty generalizations and anxious bursts of feeling that can only cause trouble. Averse to trouble as I am I have a way of finding it, probably because of those thoughts. They nip at my heels like playful pups with their sharp milk teeth. Like cats they crawl up to my chest while I'm sleeping and suck my breath.
They are the thoughts entertained by anyone. Or so I must assume. I can't confirm that because I won't let them see the light of day, poor children chained under the porch while I enjoy the cookies and milk.
They starve of neglect, but wither and do not pass. Rather I pass them in the street and deny them coins.
They sneak into my bed at night and leave changelings.
They are disagreeable. Personas non gratas. uninvited guests. But their voices twitter outside the windows and their nails scrape the panes. I leave them in the cold. They never let me forget it.
So I am sorry I have not written. I do miss you.