07/29/2023

  I'm staring at a rectangle in deep distress. This rectangle of rectangles, each an answer so tinged with fear that you won’t hear it. Its queries turning to yells turning to screams. What’s getting me are not the screams (even if they are), but rather the trees. Little patches of green titled with words like “White Noise,” “Bird Songs,” “No Loop”. I see it through these little tags, and I know they’re not talking about you. That tongue belongs to the enemy, and how can you put trust in a surgery when all they have is a rusty ax?

I wish I could see you right this instant. I’ll damn the roads, and damn the hours. Damn the phone systems that hold my heartbeat hostage, the lawns, the age of the long walk. I just want to see you again. I want to hug you for the first time all over, when I was young and dumb and thought that your game trails were portals to a world where I could see your face.

I don’t know who I am writing this to, but I love you.