like the poem that begins at the end of a dream. Bitter Melon Journal. ed. Nina Powles. March 2020.
i am googling ‘how to tell if someone is crazy’.
but that person is actually me.
but that person is actually me.
we write each other letters.
you tell me that you love me, which is beautiful.
i begin to think i can only be loved from a distance.
*
unable to focus on a given task, i roam the deserted streets.
returning to places i had almost forgotten.
i am trying to find somewhere i can disappear…
i wonder if she thinks i am sick...
*
3 days pass. i lay in bed and reply to the 8 emails in my inbox which i haven’t yet responded to.
i type something like: ‘it was nice to see you last week, i hope i can see you again soon’.
writing this makes me wonder all the places where you have been, and what books you are reading. i don’t know why it makes my heart feel heavy, not knowing all of this.