This is me.

My name is Riley and I like books.



june 2017

& here's the text of the letter with the very small font on the fourth page:


if i lack the time and space to quietly unwind myself and study the knots and brush out of kinks, the little firecrackers in my head and in my chest will pile up. it's imperative that i throw the firecrackers one by one, by myself sometimes, enjoying the pops and hisses and sparks. if this is not done with diligence, a pile of firecrackers will grow and a pile of firecrackers is dangerous. tiny bursts amass. 
the big boom you can't control, set off by any friction or weight, tiredness or thirst. 

i needed to be alone this morning, not because i didn't fancy you, but because i had become a pile of firecrackers. 

a few days in a far away place delighting in myself, in time, in diligently throwing individual firecrackers one by one, until monday came around and all of that practice was stopped. 

there was one moment when i was on my own: i sat in a cathedral and heard voices singing and cried at the way the sound decayed and reverberated throughout the space and me. my mother used to cry every sunday at church, usually during the one or two hymns we'd sing amid the typical turn of the century christian pop rock setlist. 

that welling up of feeling in response to sound is so familiar, even now when the religious connotation isn't. 
still discombobulating.
i shrunk. the strangers teasing, my friend’s disinterest, my mother insisting it was god tugging on my heart, it all made me feel very alone – not on my own but lonely is/in what i felt. 

i missed you, you and your yearning for the way a spirit moves at/with sound. 

i used up all the energy i had, then i used the emergency stash of energy i didn't know i had. 
by the time
i woke up this morning, i was a gaping want. 

it wasn't lack of love or desire, but it was lack. deficient and spent. 

in me in times of paucity, there’s pile of firecrackers littering the floor.  any step makes explosions. the only solution i've found so far is to sit alone and smile at the tiny cracksplash of each one.

long walks help. 

i switch between okay and not so quickly that i can't tell how i feel. how stupid and self absorbed that sentence seems. 

it's better to walk, just walk and walk and walk, because after sitting and thinking for too long your legs fall asleep. that makes it harder to stand.

Sent from my phone


hannah frances

hannah frances