I’m checking my junk mail for notes lost in the cracks. Those telltale signs, those brief attachments, couch cushion of the universe kind. I’ll lose sleep over these, and other sad songs on the internet, and other questions I didn’t ask, and other truths I’ll stretch to frayed ends to satisfy the silence of mixed vibrations. We don’t lose touch anymore, we choose to disappear with sigils of the 21st century, into the new salt of the earth.