greetings justwrite

Hello, my name is not what you think it is, especially in the night so late it's really morning but we say "good night" anyway because "good morning" sounds like a beginning when we really should be getting to bed, where we build houses under the sand and a wishing well is our doorway, where my arm is around your waist and every letter is a word. There is light in my clenched fists. I'm saving it to send to the stars because I've heard they're running low, and I can't imagine darkness when it's that dark, although I used to develop photographs in an absence of light room, glowing cell phone faces staining my prints, my father glowering in the corner of my mind, me wishing film was paper and I could write with my camera while your voice filled my tear ducts and you said you were nothing. I think about snow when there is steam outside, my bare legs wishing for sleds, sand dunes are drifts taller than my front door, and school is out because the tire chains are too busy gripping wrist bones and tying people in a line, me feeding my crumbs to the pigeons because they coo louder than you. I watch my reflection on the lake but never see it blink, and I think only of coconuts and turquoise, not noticing the color of the sky in February because I'm staring down, lost, drowning in the white.