8 Hours reminds me just how long the maps stretch along the walls and how big the bed beneath them grows. We all have living room. Border lines the space between times I didn't know and couldn't breath. I'm reminded of dreams by late night, waited, phone calls. These are my air.
With wet cheeks I regret the substantial inability to include among those dozens of tiny notes this entire thought process. That you're the part of the world that is bright. And you're the part of the world that sings. That you're the reason that while I'm where I've been before, I'm suddenly lost within my own evaporated thoughts. And, above all else in this world, that you are my love.
Now more than ever.
-Love,
Taylor J. Pridgen