p.s.

man.

sitting on the roof, trying to ignore the drunk khmer guys in the half-built building across the street making stupid kiss-face noises at anything moving on two legs, attempting to write postcards and letters to people back home.


actually thats a lie. i havent even picked up a pen. because each time i do i decide i will start with the most meaningful letters first, the ones that wont end up on the fridge or under the front seat of the car. but its always those letters that i just cant write.


i said this to someone a few weeks ago but i think i'll say it to everyone. its not that i'm not writing you. its just that each time i do i come to conclusions i have to go back and make sense of.

so if you never receive a single letter from me, its not because i'm not writing.

i am writing you.
just not the sort of thing that should wear a stamp.