Friday, March 18, 2022

32

Small catalogue of each time the mind turns, shifts into the little room with no lights and wooden walls: In our videocall it was snowing and I was next to a young magnolia, just as tall as me. It was spring. How can two places exist at once? Endless pages, evenings turning into darkness turning into the space above the ocean, an embrace. I make plans and don’t tell anyone. From loneliness there seems no solution, my fragmented people and all things we talked about making together. A movie about all the movies we imagined—not them being made, rather, a walk along the river where we speak in detail about the many worlds we’d like to craft, each tied together through their shared backgrounds: other people shooting car commercials. Placelessness. I don’t want to go somewhere else; I want to be with you. Remember how we talked about moving to New York together, how many paths we may have closed because something inside told us to? Thin line across a whole page. Pencil and pencil and pencil. Inside, you told me, I know the answer. I know.

No comments:

Post a Comment

63

It was a wave all along. It was a wave all along. It was repeated, your breaking, the you in the otherwise of the morning in the thick of th...