Sunday, December 13, 2020
We spoke, our last conversation and what we most wanted. I said, to be reached for, and you, to be returned to. Reaching has no prerequisite, it’s movement towards, extending. The approach. There’s always leaving before there’s return. Waves lapping at our ankles. Months later I went to where we’d walked, under the lifeguard tower, and sat in the sand. Some shade in the midst of everyone. I didn’t know what I was doing, then did. I’d returned and was waiting. If desire can’t complete itself, it can be an opening, a slow sweetness before all’s swept back to sea.
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I didn’t tell you, I wanted to, other side of the text message slipped between falling and falling asleep. Slow hands and not going slow eno...
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