I’d started coming late to class on purpose, so she could see me walk in unapologetically.
I’m going to the bookstore, he used to say.
They lay there. It was becoming time for her to wake up. The feeling was as wonderful as it was frustrating.
The girl… she’s been there forever, camouflaged among those suits that are your friends.
Let her bathe only metaphorically, in the putrid sensation of feeling used and unloved. Offer not even an espresso or madeleine for the road.
All hushed when my lips unlocked, listened to my insufferable struggling sketches of phrases.
He only allows himself to be nostalgic about the future. His future.