275, pen on paper

and I'd always write you letters
just for the sound of pen on paper
comfort can be found in strange things

I guess loneliness is
something you wear
Like skin, it defines you
it confines you

I look out over a vast sea
and strain to see
beyond your horizon

I used to long for what I can't have, like everyone
now
I long for distance covered
miles walked in my shoes
turned into lightyears

I slip slowly to sleep and
die a little, every night