Rue des Tournelles: Maybe every sleep we have is just a small preparation for our greater losses. We all trade and gamble a little of ourselves and we might just die right here of our jousting wounds on a street of little towers. Let our hearts march like soldiers in the battle of dreams.

Dear Mom, I apologize for the wars, the broken and stained things, the stabbed apples, the eaten food, the bad grades, the umbrella parachutes. The holes we made in the walls, the clothes we outgrew, the angry or tattooed years, the needy and lost years, even as adults. I hope that you still might choose us even knowing we would take so much out of you because maybe the pieces it would take to shape us would make you whole.

Important Instructions

Could I borrow a moment of your time? I will give it back slightly changed on a wavelength exactly between blue and violet. A few more moments, I promise to balance the limitations of your attention against the tremendous unknowing that lives between us. I will send it back over a bridge, tiptoeing it’s way so as not to interrupt your devotion. Here it is.