Mycelia cords
Words are what connect us. Words and sentences and letters and vowels. Spoken and written and typed, from your thoughts to my screen and back again. From your bleeding soul to my blackened one.
I always had the feeling we were two of the same genus, some sort of cousin, like coyotes and wolves.
Nothing ever rings hollow when we write it, on one side or the other, and it gives me comfort when I read yours. I wonder if you feel the same.
