Letters From Mexico #8

Dear Girl,

It’s my last night here Darlin’, then I’ll be home after the long haul. Praying for empty rows, not that I pray by conventional standards and you know I’m having problems with the woods at the moment. Too much input for a safely lifted veil here, I guess.

I feel drained, just need to have you close to me. You know how my mind wanders to tarriffs already paid sometimes. A crossing of rivers tucked under my belt from every living death. Yet here I am, bare and asking for a boat trip.

They excavated 600 corpses from one grave today, the true cost of America’s indulgence. It made me sad because they’re just trying to cope with things beyond them. I want to help, but the drop down from civility to where it counts is often a slow acid burn.

I need to be wrapped up in you, lost in us. Ever ours as I always was, and I need rest. Comfort. Security.

As we start a very different river crossing I’m left with a single image. A kid being capitalised at the interchange. The memory will stay with me.

I’m glad this is my last letter from Mexico, because it means I’m coming home. Where I belong. Finally.

I love you.

Yours always,


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