i cannot reach far enough to pick up what you are saying. my sounds are collecting, forming shapes that are sharp and dull and precise. they’re hitting a mark that is painted on my chest above a place that i think you found. hollow no more there is a beacon coming from this abandoned lighthouse that seeks lost ships. i do not know morse code, so it just pulses to the beat of whatever i am feeling at the moment. i say this so you don’t read too far into it. there is no context for my longing. only a wave that i hope one day to be swallowed by.