I lost my words upon catching sight of your form, as you lay among sprouts with your lips slightly apart and your lids shut tight.
I was not looking for you, or for anything. I was on my way back to my room, back to my automatons, my robots, and I snuck a look at you. Stopping, watching for a bit, I was caught.
You should know that you, my daring boy, had thrown away your morning on a walk through woodlands. I had thrown away my morning on my laptop, as always. Do you find your soul in plants, in fauna?
Your nights consist of a nap in the grass, staring up at a black sky and thinking through your past. I cannot fathom how you do this again and again. Nights build up that you cast off to a starry sky, a ground on which to faint, a book to flip through if apathy occurs.
I am a vassal to html, to www dot com, to this cathodic display which haunts my hours and always holds my thought. You, I think, did this too, many months ago. You would not abandon your big comfy chair, your laptop and it's magic. It had control of your days, as it now has with my own. How did you cut away from it? How can I?
I want to know all of it- that tactility of grass on my palms, of bark scraping against my arms, of rocks that cut into my skin. If your nights in grassy union (with woods, with worlds) truly fill your mind with magic, I want to know that too. I want astonishing nights on grassy lawns with you.
This, my darling, is a world. And I want all of it.