at first light, dad and

it comes in waves, our

the looks you recalled

the looks you recalled
us receiving and the longing
i remembered us
ignoring crossed
paths on the eighth
of forever, too
preoccupied to perhaps
notice, wave
.
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y

ever so often,

because i love you,

because i love you,
it doesn’t matter if you
write or don’t write – the
ratio of i to you
hinges
on a cultivated
silence
.
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y

at some point, we can

we traveled halfway

by the river, two

we are steps from the

for months after, everything

for months after, everything
around the apartment became
bookmarks to that moment –
the spot in front of the
south-facing window,
the floorboards by the
door, the step before
the step into the shower,
the corners to the wrought
iron gates beneath the
curtains, the woven waste
basket beside the nightstand –
with every finger tucked
between the pages, we
inevitably had to give up
on the story somehow
.
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y