the world out there feels so far away. i want our world composed entirely of wood. lit by simple reading lights and soft swaying candles that touch the air with their fire. a simple touch. a small burn. a reminder that the world is a soul trapped in the process of motion. and here we are, taking advantage of its beauty while we sit entirely still, basking in the warmth of a now-home-heart-with-only-one-direction. (i am now a topographer. my heart holds the pencil. i etch images of you on every breathless tree. an obituary of love poems. resurrecting fallen trees with maps that lead to your soft breath mixing with mine.) i want to take you to a place where no one is watching and etch the word “home” in its skin. i want the world to freeze in its tracks as goosebumps dominate my limbs at the electric touch of your fingertips.