Fear can not heal a heart that yearns for mending. A healer by her bed, new stitches every day. Delicate flesh. Hollow bones. Seal your letters before sending them with your spit, and slit your tongue licking paper to leave a mark of fresh drawn blood. 

    Red turns brown by the time it reaches her destination. Or perhaps the letter will get lost, forgotten after a certain time. 

    Hear what the papers have to say. The written and the published ones both. Private made public. Showing every concern in your front lawn. A wonderful show curated of your moments where you stand still naked. The sun makes sure you are heated. 

    And exposed. For the world to see you as you are. As open of a book as you can be. So there is no confusion to be stuck in. Windows big and crystal clear. For it is to be possible for one to see the street and feel inside of them a strange glee. 

    See your reflection on the said window. The one that talks back to you in situations where you have nothing to say. So you only stay still, expecting your eyes to talk instead of your mouth. For it is normal to be scared of accidents and all your teeth falling out like pearls out of the sea. 

    That is the moment that all becomes foam. Instead of a heated stance, it becomes waves in water, encompassing you into a friendly hug. Room temperature water is the easiest (way) to drink, and we here all know how important it is to lick salt and keep hydrated in this a-blazing heat.