My book is being made into a film. The pages are being
recycled into cellulose acetate fiber for use in the manufacture of
transparent coating material.
I am the seasons, I think sometimes,
January, May, November; the mud, the mist, the dawn. I cannot
be tossed about, or float gently, or mix with other
people.
☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾
iloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyou
with no spaces in between, no room for any
exceptions. ☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾
☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾ Call me crazy. Call the universe
cruel.
Call my mother on the phone, with
an apology she’ll never believe. Call
me soulmate, I never believed in them
anyway. Call to ask how I’m doing.
Call for all of your kitchen dances
and hazey car kisses back. Call
my name in your sleep, call it when
you unravel. ☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾