Monday, November 29, 2021

25.4

There’s the somethingsomethingsomething and the windwindwind, the crash of the break, the ocean that opens again and again. I know that an invitation is only that, but I moved in your direction and wrote to you, searching for the joy of a morning below jacaranda blossoms and city smog. I wanted to find the connection between the way your lips opened reading the word you and the way description kept slipping off. The more I missed you the further away we became, and so I started writing to you again.

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25.4

There’s the somethingsomethingsomething and the windwindwind, the crash of the break, the ocean that opens again and again. I know that an i...