What can I tell you when you're away? I've been meaning to say something, something beautiful that would choke your sobbing in sweetly blushing clouds. Maybe I'm not meant to be a creation, but I'm meant to create. Maybe I'm meant to be a good number of things. Maybe that number is nine, or maybe it is seven, or four-hundred and seventy-nine. Maybe it is so many things you and I could never hope to count them, but they would all be beautiful.

What have I learned since you've been away? More than I can remember, but then again, maybe you only learn what you can remember. I remember that love is a concept and not a concrete object. I remember that camp is only a parody, but I would love to live my life as a parody anyways. I remember knocking over the trash can, falling onto a pile of garbage, and thinking it was a decent place to sleep. I remember how blanched the world was after my fourth day without sleep.

I don't think it's a routine unless it comes in threes. I don't think it's love until I'm down on my knees.

p.s. My hair is growing back faster than I had imagined it would. Pictures soon.