in spite of myself, I still think on you sometimes.

And I find it hard to read when you are writing, harder to write what you are reading.

I had a thought last night that escaped me as I stretched – breathing, hands wide – that all of this is because of you. Irrationality bowled me over and the intenseness of your lack of faith still presses on me. When I am sleeping, when I am working, when I am practicing, you come back to me and lie close down against my chest, making it heave, spinning me around.

In some ultra different universe, where you are like me and I am alone, I imagine you walking through those smooth glass double doors. In my mind’s eye I see my eyes dilating at the sight of you, two years older and finer and smoother like fine liquor drawn from the cask, and doubly inappropriate. I see me as you might, with wilderness in the frame and the sense I’ve let myself go.

listening to: i bet that you look good on the dance floor // arctic monkeys
reading: Korean History notes