This is what the coloured glass dreams.
Google tells me she loves American football, and I wonder what twist of data gave her this quirk, this sweet brave way in which she diverges from me, diverts surveillance, leads the advertisers astray.
Ask about the truth. Then ask, again, about the romance. Know that one might cancel out the other. Do not ask any more questions. Count backwards, three to one. Desire more.
How easily / I could imagine a version of our lives / in which he kept all his suffering secret from me. / I saw the beer on the counter.
Get Our Newsletter
The soft calling of birds stirs you awake again, a morning lullaby that lures you to action instead of a gentle sleep. The sun seeps into the blinds, dazzling you in streams of light. You run your hands against the orange wool blanket beside you that waits there now because it’s been three hours since […]