ello, jello

You’re driving a helicopter made of legos, lifting me on a Lego speedboat. A goodbye letter with three sheets of paper, one sheet stapled backwards and in the wrong order. There are pictures of the vintage items you’ve acquired, a rotary phone, a giant wooden loom that takes up most of your living space. You tell me you sometimes think of me but that your body doesn’t let you feel it. There’s no satisfying end to the letter, I end it by waking up.