Muddled Writing.

Today, I'm free writing. Please forgive the muddled mess. A ghost wrapped in pasty sheets. I lazily rolled over and scanned the vacant floors. My body was placid for a long time, the stillness of the room made time suspend. Light poured through cracked blinds and open curtains. I accepted the morning, I welcomed it with a warm heart. Twine cluttered hallways and hardwood floors. My reflection smiled in the glass of my vanity. An ebbing heart. Warm arms, blue birds, hollow walls. I found relief in thumbed over pages. Thin pages, rotting pages. I held them close, whispering fatal breaths. Beating hearts and white knuckled hands. Promise me something. Promise me blueberry pancakes and hot tea every morning. My hands trembled and salty fluid spread through inked gate numbers and promised seats. Airports have an air for goodbyes though, maybe that's why the tears came so fluidly. Anchors fell behind faded couches, forgotten and longing. The crown of daffodils around tangled hair absorbed the light beneath your chin. Sundresses blew. Our feet planted in solid ground, growing roots beneath the earth. Branches broke through the marrow. Pulsing with the core. Teal suitcases. I caught your aura against the white board. Promise me something.