L. V., I Found This Poem Wilting In The Garden

what's the new side blog ?

sideblogs* actually

okay but give me a good reason to unleash those awful edits (again) for even one person to see

L. V., i found this poem the day after you left

L. V., i found this poem on a beer bottle cap you tossed across the room

L. V., i found this poem as it blurred past us on a foreign road

well, i'm no expert, but apart from fe, i suspect specks of fi too. as i have said, i haven't had much time to ponder on you (you, not your blogs), thus it's a tad bit difficult to say. in any case, what i say doesn't matter, i just wished to know. otherwise i can promise my curiosity will keep wandering and haunt me with every glimpse of yours.

You got it right, apart from one letter. At least, based on the last time I took it. So I don't know, maybe you're right with your speculation. But I also did have one other result prior to the most recent one that was pretty consistent throughout the years.

L. V., i found this poem tucked safely between 2:53 and 2:54 in the morning

L. V., i found this poem scribbled on an old receipt

L. V., i found this poem whilst staring at your favourite painting for too long that the lines started to blur and the colours looked like mud

I love your 'in my drafts' and 'combing through my old poems' posts because as a non-writer (is that even a thing?) it's interesting to see like it's the behind the scenes of a movie. The drafts are especially intriguing. They feel raw and like I'm not supposed to be seeing it but you're letting us take a peek of your writing process. It feels like a secret.

It's a thing now, haha! Thank you for telling me this. I was very hesitant posting those because they might not be pretty enough or something along those lines. But I adore your description. I call it my "poetic autopsy" of sorts, but I like the behind-the-scenes analogy better. And that's the "feeling" I was aiming for with the drafts. To feel "raw", unedited, the emotions and thoughts allowed to run free, finally untethered—and if any of them come back to me, I'll be here to welcome them with open arms.

L. V., i found this poem where the ocean ends