How I have longed to hold you within the grasp of my hand all week, to recount for you my internal affliction, and for you to bleed for me. Your black blood clotting onto parchment lulls my ephemeral fears. Each detail rests between the thumbprint of every individual sheet, staining my story into its possession. As the crickets sing outside my window, I hold you tighter within myself and frantically scrawl that anguish deeper, bruising the purity of the paper with the black that leaks out of me.