Repack — Pps Amour

PPS: This morning I peeled an orange for myself and thought of the way you used to save me the last slice. Sweet. Imperfect. Wet with the juice of something we couldn't name.

No envelope this time. Just this. Just the echo. pps amour

Postscript to a love I forgot to sign

PPS: Do you remember the way light fell through the blinds that Sunday? Like confession through teeth. Like forgiveness through a crack in the door. PPS: This morning I peeled an orange for

PPS: I lied when I said I didn't mind the silence. I collected every empty second you gave me and pressed them like dried flowers between the pages of a book I'll never finish. Wet with the juice of something we couldn't name

After the letter was sealed, after the stamp was licked and stuck to the corner like a tiny prayer, I remembered the thing I left out— not the date, not the address, but the softest part.