Dear October,ghost friendI've been meaning to write to you. Who are you, ghost friend? Are you the forest, the sea, the tiny, pretty things you can buy in the city for cheap? Are you the books, the paints, a warm home cooked meal? Are you the lost letters, the lost days, lost chances? Have the past few years been any indication at all? A few things I wish you are not: the spineless who cannot keep one’s word; the...
