it rained. my heart sits heavily on my chest but i haven’t found a better place for it. from my bed i see small raindrops glowing under the balcony ramp. there used to be a tree in the yard, but it is gone now. i don’t know when it left or where it went; i wasn’t there for the farewell. in this space i see walls without windows and shadows of crows and seagulls gliding through the air, leaving elusive marks on the concrete. there is nothing there that shouldn’t be there—flesh and bones mingling, stories from another world.
we have been in this quietness together before. our fingers weren’t laced together; our hands weren’t touching. our minds were separated by my thoughts against yours. i kept a distance from you, and you kept your hand on my thigh. you told me countless things through your lips and from your eyes, but i absorbed only a fraction of them—the weight of our conversation too feathered for me to remember most of it. you wanted to be more of you with more of me, but within several hours you had already lost many of your defining features. (and how beautifully you faded.) the best part was forgetting, i suppose.