A Faint Coffin of Scents - Love Af a r

[Letters confiscated on Janu[erased by Rewrite]]

Dear, o so dear [Source],

The sun hides every evening, cowering in fear under the ink of a long, dark night without your breath to keep my skin pulsing.
I used to long for your return, but longing is too long for whoever belongs to you. I need you to return. My heart is a hexagon made out of wax and it's melting under a very strange flame. From the point of view of the flame, I tremble under the breeze.

I'm going to bed, now.

I can't bring myself to send you kisses of ink, they repel me.

P.S. : Forgive me this letter. I'm a bit drunk right now. Hopefully, the next one won't be so sad and will be devoid of any attempt at poetry. Sorry, sweet, sweet [Source]. Sorry I suck at poetry as much as at sobriety.

Dear, so bloody dear [Source]

I'm quite angry at you.

I didn't keep a copy of my last letter. It must have been awful. Still, you could have replied.

We still have time... [The second page has been lost, probably stuck in a wrong file]

Dear catalyst of my senses,

I tried to start writing a paper about common flies. I had no idea they were as uninteresting as you'd believe.

My mind flies to images of you.

I'll keep my letters short.

To you, [Source], I send my densest fumes of love.

Dear friend of my most pitiful thoughts,

I have met L. again, today. He said the bees have been acting strange, lately. I think he got obsessed with the little creatures and lost himself in a spiral of disagreable thoughts.
I have dived into my research about the common fly. It's excruciating. I think it could actually help L., I should discuss flies each time he tries to talk bees, bend the conversation.
He brought me some honey, though. There are good sides...

I send some adoration your way, hoping to get a blowback of it from you.

Dear owl, dear flying watchman, dear thing of feather and light,

I have reached a dead end. The common flies have dropped like flies.
I kind of hope for a dead end on your side too, so that you are forced to step back and meet me again soon.

The lighthouse will remain illuminated, looking almost ablaze.

Dear [Source],

Is my long concern reaching an end? Are you coming back?

The lighthouse keeps shining, showing you the way home through the rains of distance.

Dear sensation made flesh,

The light strikes me as gloomy, today. Will you be back?
I keep diving deeper into allegories when I try to write letters and I feel that my point is lost in bad attempts at poetry.

Just do whatever you will.

Dear flame,

Shattered ideas gather in the ponds outside the kitchen window.
I have trouble focussing on my research.
I haven't received news from L. in days. I am considering visiting.

Have you managed to keep your head together, have your ideas stuck to one another in long chains.

Why aren't you back yet?

Dear drop of ink,

I am slowly falling out of myself.
L. is gone.

Meanwhiles are becoming too-lates.

Help...
Help...