letters from my bedroom

it's the light that pours through the windows.
it's the cold rush through your bones in the morning.
it's the beautiful hurt that comes with love and the intoxicating power that coincides with rage.
it's black ink on a page you know so well.
oh, yes. it's his eyes.
you bleed black ink and they don't understand-
it's the lands they've never pictured in their minds but you can see clearly behind your eyes.

it's the fitted sheet with your scent on it.
the smell of old books and magic.
memories clearly written on the walls.
a bed for one that once was for two.
the sketches strewn about the floor,
the music that once played, haunting the space.
the straw that once belonged to the broom.

yes darling, these are letters from my bedroom.