Dear Marie,

       Since I’m not allowed to speak to you, this letter will have to do. They tie my arms like shoelaces whenever I leave my room, afraid I’ll try to hang myself like a clock that has chimed too many times. 189 days I’ve been here and I spend every moment thinking of you.

I didn’t want to hurt you, I just wanted to cut open your chest and see your heart beat from the inside. I wanted to curl around it until its drumbeats reverberated through my bones like two drunk teenagers at a blues concert; blissed out of their minds on vodka and happiness.

I came in for coffee every single day. I don’t even like coffee. The dark, bitter smell only reminds me of floorboards creaking in the darkness. But you were always up front, because you were so pretty, and I loved to look at you. You were so nice to everyone, even to the creepy old men who would stare at your ass and breasts, degrading you to meat – juicy and tender. I would never look at you like that.

Your laughter was like touching someone for the first time and when you directed it at me I almost orgasmed right there in the middle of the god damn coffee shop. I miss you. Remember that day late last September when we almost made love right there on the counter? I could see the heat in your eyes, hear you gulp like a fish flopping on the shore after its realized the ocean has always been where it’s belonged.

I don’t like it here. Always hurrying to wait. Hurry, hurry, eat your breakfast so you can get back to your room to wait for lunch. Even your piss is timed. That’s what I love about you. You made every second feel like an eternity.

See you soon.

Love,

Richard