i. 12.45 pm. Words are heavy. They cling to you with the weight of promises and half-enchanted tomorrows that will manifest themselves in the crevasses of someone’s indifference.

ii. 1.32 pm. I have written you more than three thousand pages. I have written you a book and two hundred letters. I have piled words and emotions and taught them to fit in small, manageable passages that you will never be able to find in the thousand other words I have written in the wind.

iii. 5.56 pm. Ah, but the trick is to remember the light reflecting on your irises when your face came alive with laughter.

iv. 6.08 pm. I would protest my vilest lie if it would grant me entrance to your underrated kingdom.

v. 6.11 pm. I have seen you when others have not deigned to glance your way. I have seen you when you only gazed at me. I have seen you on your knees and on your feet; I have seen your bones breaking free from the confines of your skin.

vi. 7.26 pm. I would not willingly cage you if you asked it of me.

vii. 8.59 pm. I close the book and make tea for one.


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