days and nights 

the days are the hardest to get through. the nights are easy, because i'm usually dreaming of you. and the time i don't spend dreaming of you, i don't remember. it's a black hole. i don't care for it. the nights go by quickly, for the most part. and i think of you with my eyes shut, pictures of you come and go. and if those awake want to call it a dream, so be it. labels are just that.

the days take longer. the seconds are like hours. the hours are days. and i've already told you how long the days take, they're too long without you.

i want to give you a bath. to tan your skin with my touch. to lick you when you've gone dry and to hold you like your mother's blanket.



when you speak, everything else goes mute. and i see your face, your smile, all of you coming to me in pieces like in those hollywood movies we watched together. romantic comedies revealing that there are others out there who share our not-so comical existence. yes. i remember that conversation we had. didn't mean to reverb, here. just can't help myself.

this is what i think of when there is no you around. i re-live you. rebroadcast those scenes, play them back to myself, because i still find the need to miss you. and i miss the need to find you. i don't want to live without. but it's beyond 'want.' it's so much more than that.

if ever you miss me, should you ever feel like you need more of me in your life, just stop by the ironbound. come see what it's become and understand that in all likelihood, i, too, have changed. i, too, have become something other than who i was when you found something in me to love. but honestly, could you have loved me if i was static? could you love me if i was just me every day? i wouldn't want you to. wouldn't ask you to. wouldn't love you if you did.


against your skin 

last time i saw you, you came up to me to give me a hug and held me for some time. you held me there as i held you, and as my hands rested on the small of your back i remembered just how small your waist really is. it's like the middle of an eight. you're like a number. a number that held me in place like a newfound memory. rediscovered in essence and meaning. and because you seemed to be enjoying me holding you, i kissed your neck. without backing away, without moving an inch, you said, "stop." not in a rude, or even abrupt way. you said it softly, reminding me of our recently adopted limits.

i want to fall asleep together again. to rest my head on your tiny, tiny waist. i found comfort there and i know that no matter what else the cruel world throws at me, the echo of your skin and mine rubbing together is as soothing as heaven itself.

for the sake of improvement 

when my father first brought us here, the house wasn't a home. not at first. but it grew on us. all of us. and the reason for that partly fell on the trees that lined the block on both sides of my street. they blocked it so much so that even during the brightest, warmest summer day, the rays of light found it difficult to reach certain parts of the street. but without me realizing so, the city began to take down the trees. i don't know why, maybe because they were beginning to make a mess out of the sidewalks, or maybe because they were perfect. but the fact is, today there are only two left on my block. two trees. we get plenty of sunlight. the sidewalks are even and nicely paved, with no cracks to speak of. yet the street looks dead. at least when compared to all the life it once held. the thirsty roots might have reached too far and cracked the sidewalks, thus dooming their own fate, but the trees they took down sure made the neighborhood children laugh a lot more often as they played hide and seek with the sunshine.

names are just titles 

silently, now, they all go back to their holes. and they're whole. i see it. at least on the outside. the interior, no one knows. no one ever cut one down the middle. no one ever put a knife to one just to watch for blood, as if itching with curiosity. not one. not one.

silently, now, i'm left silently alone. it's the darkening of the forest. the ascent of the moon and stars.

we need starboys to reel the cattle of stars home. bring them all to the concrete ranch where we now store our cars and charge admission. one dollar. two dollars. three. however much people will pay to watch us break a star.

"oh, she's a good star. pure bred."

yes, i want to see the starboys wrap ropes around the stars and bring them home. i want to watch as they saddle up constellations. i want to ride a star for eight seconds, just eight seconds out of all the years i've lived to do nothing like it. yes, eight seconds of glory, to own that star. to give it your name. to have a piece of you again, even if only in title.

telling the days apart 

technology can get you everything in the blink of an eye. everything except happiness, and that's always been everything to me. and happiness was you, for a few days and nights. a few dates on the calendar that bled into each other without rhyme or reason. the lines separating the days on paper wouldn't lead you to think that they're as porous as they actually are. there is no announcement for the new day. i don't feel any differently at the stroke of midnight. but maybe it's just technology that has us moving so effortlessly into the future. maybe once, long ago, people were able to tell the days apart.

i had a headache last night because i missed you. that's where i feel it. the part of you that's gone, that is. i feel it in my mind because that's the part of me that fell for you. not my heart. only fools love with their heart. no, no. i am much too wise for that. but not wise enough to learn how to get you out of my mind. so much so, that even when you leave, i still feel you. or where you kept. and i long for you to return because my head just won't stop hurting. and i'm having a hard-enough time just trying to tell the days apart.


makeshift fortress 

silence. all around me. i don't want to leave this room, today.

i'll nap by that corner. wake up and draw over here, next to the closet. i don't even want to go near the bed right now. i want to draw. sketch the world as it is and then sketch it as it should be. i'll place the sun where i please and if someone sees the sketch at a later date and offers, "why is the sun sitting next to the house as if they are neighbors? that makes no sense," i'll say, "no, you make no sense. you are the lock on creativity. the one who says that things are only what they are and refuses to see the endless possibility of each and every sunrise. you have not known the sun since its birth, how can you claim that it never stood next to that very house?"

so if today the sun can be anywhere, and it can as long as i hold this pencil, it will sit next to the house. because even stars want to go home. because if i could the world as i wish it were i'd dream in color and filter the rivers. make the water pure like a child's eyes.

i don't want to think about what it's like outside. i don't want to look out the window because it's the same it's always been and yet it's the exact opposite. and the names of the streets aren't enough for me anymore. and these driveways and highways can't do the memory any justice. the bridges that cross the river are one-way tickets to the rest of the world, but why should i have to go away when i don't want to? i don't want to go away. i just want to go back. to go back to what it was. to look out the window and have the same sunlight, rain, clouds and rainbows i once saw beckon me from across the street. and until what this has become is enough for me, i don't want to leave this room. until i come up with a way to undo what's done, i don't want to go anywhere. i want to sketch and pretend it's all just as it once was.

it's easier to do that in the silent peace i find here. for all the interior unrest, i think this room can be a fortress again. even if i don't know what it is that truly needs protecting.

remainders of you 

at night when i'm falling asleep, i reach my arm across where you should be. i feel the emptiness that is there.

even before finding rest for the night i begin dreaming of holding you in the fortress of that room. i think of how my tongue searched you. you raised your hand and pointed at the ceiling as if reaching for something, or perhaps just to prove that there was nothing else there that wasn't us. did you point at nothing thinking you had to make it evident to me?

i smile when i remember how you'd grunt and ask me to stop as if you really meant it. when i remember how we locked our lips and breathed each other's air. were each other's air. and still your hair, here and there and everywhere like i tried to make my hands be. couldn't get enough of your skin. no inch was ever too understood. or too memorized, even if mesmerized i remained.

yes, this is what goes through my mind. remainders of you are what i have left.



an old man at the end of his trail usually has something to say for history's role. but not always. not always. and i wonder, if ever i do make it to a century, whether i'll remember anything at all. and should i remember a few incidents, whether i'll remember the words that go along with the pictures in my mind.

will these streets remember my name like i have memorized theirs?


going back there 

my lips to your body like summer rain to the ground. a touch on your elbow so slight and faint with indecision, it gets lost in all the noise of the unnecessary. these hands will bend to you. this body will mold it's stone-carved meaning to your soft hills and valleys, rest alongside you. and i will find reasons to come for you through the long shadows of our unlit room and with the wind of the fan we bought at that old garage sale sailing me forth.


after we ended i said unto me that i'd never allow myself to hurt like that again. and so i shut myself in and allowed no one entrance. i made it so that i couldn't love. i made it so that i couldn't be loved. with you gone, there was no point.

what else is worth writing about? 

this world we live in, what you love can get you killed. we go to war for hate, but we won't fight for love. and i wonder, if not love, what else is there to die for? truth and justice? i don't believe this world has ever seen much of either. dreams and hopes? if they're not real, will our deaths bring them into being? no.

the ironbound was once better than that. better than the world. between coffee shops and crooked sidewalks, i bought fresh fruit at the mini-markets and as simple as that sounds it's as complex as i ever wanted life to get. i didn't want to answer for death and love and hate. i just wanted to love. learn not to hate. and die a long time from now. in the ironbound. but the more i become sure about the ugliness of the world, i feel less and less secure about anything regarding myself. about anything regarding this place.


1 toothbrush 

just for the record, and despite anything else i may say or do, i want you to know that no one has touched your cup. so if you want to stay the night, there'll be some coffee waiting for you in the pot and your cup in the cupboard above the sink. and for a toothbrush, you can always use mine.

just like a pair of broken-in jeans 

i was thinking of your jeans last night. the ones with the hole just above the right knee. the ones that hugged you better than even i, despite all my lust and desire, managed to do sometimes. i was thinking of them and of how if i watched them walk through the door i'd still recognize them. even if you weren't wearing them, if it was just the jeans out for a night alone, i'd remember them and say hello. even if someone else wore them i'd recognize them as yours. and they wouldn't fit her as well, because they're yours.

and because regardless of what i say, i too am still yours, i will never fit as well with anyone else.


losing faith 

love, i'm losing faith in love and i fear soon i will have to call you "like." or "ideal." or "notion." because that's what i'm beginning to believe in.

the circumstance brings me there, but it's all a game of "what can i get for my value and if i can get more than i'm worth i'm gonna hold fast to it." and i don't like that. i don't like the fact that the game of love is like that.

i'm losing faith, love, partly because this city is dying. and so i feel our own love is dying. we're no longer "us." we're dead, you and i. dead and gone. it's just you, and me.

i don't want to usher in the wind or have the stars sing you a song. i don't want to take you on a tour of the city, again. no horse-drawn carriage, no dreams of old paths and streets whose names we've memorized. i don't want any of that magic to return because i'm losing faith and i don't want to be blind like that. i need to get out now. and i'd take you with me; if not for who we are, at least for what we were.

i don't even know what i'm saying anymore. it's too much. i don't really understand any of it but the city is changing. and i'm changing. and you've changed already. perhaps we're both just playing catch-up with you. i don't know. i don't know. i don't know anymore.

if you really are going somewhere, hold out your hand and take me along. take me somewhere else because the ironbound is going and i don't think it's coming back. or maybe it's just been there all along and i didn't see it. maybe i could see nothing else other than you. i'm losing faith in love, love, because love lost its faith in me.

late saturday nights on my couch 

the main character and his mistress are at a ball when they are approached by a younger man, a stranger, who asks, "do you have a date." the protagonist answers, "she has a date every night."

when we watched that movie you burried your face in my chest. as if it's something i might have said. and i would've. that's exactly how i would have answered him if he'd approached us.


changing colors in the night 

dream. dream and never open your eyes. shut out the world. the world that changes colors. like in autumn. spring. like your eyes. your hair, in the summer. you, chameleon of the seasons, pretty in all your shades and i, fumbling my way through these fragments of thoughts. i'm barely awake now. i'll try breaking into your dreams as i drift off to sleep. but you can always find me wearing red when you're having a green dream or in blue when the dream is clad in black and white. you pick me out of crowds because, unlike you, i cannot change my hues.

i wake up and you've painted my sky. even high up in the clouds you have no vertigo. not like i felt when you first left and went away. you were my ground, and without you the altitude was a little too much.

have you ever woken up and wished you were far away from here? not me. not until today. not until i realized you're not coming back. oh, you're coming back with hugs and in my dreams and every time i close my eyes. you do plenty of that. but you're not coming back otherwise. not like before. not naked with desire, riddled with sweat and tugging at my bottom lip with your teeth. not like that. those days are long gone. as far away as i wished i could be from here when i woke up this morning.


widows weep, et cetera 

three widows weep where once only one understood.

and i, my love, i see only your face in their tears. only your eyes in their eyes.

yesterday you came up to my car as i waited at the light and kissed my cheek. smiled radiant and waited for a response. and i, like so many times before, could offer only a smile in return.

i wanted to take you right there. fetch you away to a place far as i have thought of doing so many times before. we can go to a beach far from here, build a hut in the sand and i'll hunt and fish. all we need is each other, but all we have is this town with these buildings between you and i. and they place trees sparingly throughout the streets to con us. they want us to think we can breathe freely, but love, we can't. and we shouldn't. not without the other there to recycle the breaths we otherwise allow to go freely into the congested air of the ironbound.

but we're here, still here. like we were yesterday. you smiling the way you know i can't resist. the way you know i can't erase from memory. the way i always see you when i close my eyes to remember you. and i can't leave. i want to leave and take you along but we both know our love can't exist outside the invisible walls of this city. we're bound, you and i. and her. and i fear we will always be so. we will never leave. and we will never be that close again.

you said you had to run, just wanted to surprise me. "well, you did," i replied. and you ran off like you always do. come to think of it, that's how i remember you. i remember you leaving even more so than i remember you staying, your smile.

there are more widows here than ever intended to dress in black. three widows weep where once only one understood, and i, my sweet, my sweet sweet love, see shadows surrender solely studied of streets and sidewalks.

i'm only a formerly conquered heart.


kissing the distance 

the weather is dark and warm like the inside of an oven. at this point, the threat of rain isn't a threat so much as a hopeful possibility, even if the rain gets lost amid the sweat on my brow.

i don't think i love you anymore today than i did yesterday. i don't miss you anymore than yesterday, either. i miss you and blow kisses that i hope make it to you but it feels like i'm just kissing the distance.

john came to work today and told me he saw you. he always salivates at the mouth when he speaks of you and today was no different. his eyes wide and wiping away at his mouth with the palm of his hand, he told what you wore and that you asked about me. and then he went on to tell me how your shirt didn't meet your pants and that your lower back and navel were exposed and that got me thinking about when you would lay face down on my pillow and i'd run my hand up and down your naked hips and back. and you smiled and blew me kisses that never made it through the two feet between your lips and my lips.

kissing the distance, i guess it's always been like it is now.


all new 

while you helped heal pigeons and things i watched and that's how i came to want you. watching you, taking mental pictures. stealing pieces of you when you weren't aware.

then, one evening as the sun set and cast a fog of blinding orange light over everything, you were gone. as quickly as the flash of my eyes giving you enough light, you vanished. went. now writing me letters that are divided between coming home and continuing to find places to get lost in. but i've told you before, you can't come home again. it's never the same. we can drink coffee at the same tables and forget the sorrows at the same bar but it just won't be the same. the coffee is a different brew and the booze goes down differently. even if it's just us, sadly enough it'll never be the same.

you're upset with me, telling me i spoiled you to the point you can't be happy with anyone else. but how's that supposed to make me feel when i'm included in that 'anyone'?

this situation is getting me down. i'm drowning with your drought, i want to kiss you again. i want to give you the world again because, yes, it has continued to rotate and so it, too, has grown and is different. like you. and me. a whole new world. i think i can love again but it'll be brand new because you're so different. and the same with me. and we can still walk about the ironbound and everyone will think we're the same couple, but we won't be. and i'll tell you all about my past with you as if i had shared it with someone else. because i did share it with someone else. and you can tell me all about your past with me as if you had shared it with someone else. because you did share it with someone else.

we'll fall in love in the ironbound and then this town will have two love stories. one where things don't work out and i write these words for you. and another where there is no book; just a romance that lasts until we're both gone.

it's so sunny outside. the day is gorgeous. and i am tempted to run out and walk around finding new places to romance you. new traffic lights and stop signs under which to kiss you. yes, this town can work for us again. for all its ugliness, it can still be the backdrop of love.


glitters like your golden hair 

you'd want me to stay, you once wrote in a letter, if only it didn't take so much to be with me. i chuckled. i do so even now as i'm writing this. you'd want me to be with you, you continued, if only i could love you as i love the grass on the park, and the corners of the buildings and even the sidewalk on my street. and yes, i have memorized the wrinkles time bestowed upon the sidewalk on my street, but only after learning the lines of you. you taught me how to see things differently. you showed me the world anew and then became upset because i could not contain who i was becoming.

but you also changed. you are no longer that girl i met. you are that woman who is no longer here. remember how i showed you that by listening to the birds you can learn the weather? and remember how i taught you to read the way the leaves fell from the trees?

one night we were in bed together and you lay your head on my chest and ran your index finger around my navel like you liked to do so much. you kissed my stomach out of the blue and i asked you what the kiss was for. you said, "you're worth your weight in shakespearean sonnets." "what happened to being worth my weight in gold?" and you answered, "i felt this was more appropriate."

this was, of course, after i had written a book for you and you knew that the world could never be the same thereafter.

it's the small things that change us. it's the minute details that pry us free of our misconceptions. and yes, my book was very small. very small in the eyes of all but us.

so yes, i do still think of you. think of you quite often, as you can tell from this. and yes, i also think of the sidewalk on my street. but i can move to another place and forget the cracks of the sidewalk on my street. but i'll never forget what i learned of you, even as i learn the lines that make up another woman.


book part deux 

it's time to see who really loves me. i published a second collection of poetry entitled "the deepest depths of shallow ponds." it is now for sale at the unbelievable low rate of $7.95. anyone who would like a copy email me at hugo@hugodossantos.com and i will gladly ship you a copy. like i said, it's $7.95 (plus $1 shipping).

also, for those of you who are watching your wallets more carefully, my first book is still available for $5 (plus $1 shipping). for samples of some of the work in that book visit www.hugodossantos.com.

thanks for all the support. peace.

ps- email this info to anyone you think may be interested. support the arts.



it's just the inadequacy of it all. the silence after the initial "hello," or "hey you." those words always come easy. they're greetings, proper manners of being society branded into me. i can't forget. like the first time you removed your shirt for me. for us. for the moment. i always say them, these words i recall without trying to do so. i say them even without meaning to do so. but how do i follow that? i don't know what to say anymore. i feel so small before your eyes. i forget all that i accomplished. all that i would say to you if i just had the wherewithal to remember how to put the simplest of phrases together.

the hardest words 

some words are so hard to say. like "stay." or, "i'm sorry."

some words were once hard to say, so we used them for everything from bread to television shows. pimped out the meaning. yes, i love the autumn evenings, but not like i loved you. i can say the word now, but what good is it if i can't get the feeling back?

some words are impossible to say. like, "i'm afraid of losing you." and, "i no longer know how to be when i'm not around you."

some words have become too easy to say. but they don't mean what they used to. like "love." and it's so easy to say it almost falls out of my mouth. so i guess i drop an "i love you," and fail to care about how it's received. because i really don't. not anymore. i used to once, but couldn't say it. now i can say it, but can't feel it.

some words are so hard to say. like the truest feelings. like the white sands i will never see. like dressing up the moon with clouds last night. it means nothing. it is nothing. because using the words, stole all the meaning.


to look at the stars 

should i go to the planetarium to see you? why did they name it after the planets and not the stars? no one goes there to see the planets. everyone goes to look at the stars. especially now that there are none in the sky. especially now that you don't return my calls.

when i take a step the ground turns to waves and i fall in 

remember how we used to do it, you and i? i'd recite you poems and then you'd scratch my back and sing me to sleep. humming with the window open. do you remember that? so why, my siren, does the ground now sway under me like waves as if i'm lost at sea? do even the rugs and carpets know that i can't find my north star in all this fog? do my steps announce it so that even the ground finds reason to mock me?


give me your poetry again 

for a day that began so promising, so uplifting in spirit, for me at least, it took a wrong turn somewhere. ended up elsewhere. lost. confused. who knows where.

you see, every song on the radio is the exact same. the voices are identical. they don't have anything new to say. so i turn off the radio. silence. it lasts a while. long enough for your picture to come back to me. i shut my eyes, reopen them, it won't fade the slightest bit.

i can't read. i mean, i'm capable of such. but i can't read. i can't put it together. soon enough the words blur into each other and all i see is your name. you're the names of the cities, characters, birds. the facts and fictions, nouns and verbs. all is your name. every metaphor is there to frame you.

so yes, i was defiant earlier today but now i want only your kiss. i want your kiss back. i want your kiss again. i'll read anything you spell out with your tongue. make me into your book and i will make your body into mine.

no patience for your poetry 

don't kiss me today, i don't have patience for the poetry of your lips. that's what i would say to you had morning greeted me with you in my bed. that's what i would say. for what's a kiss worth? what's a kiss worth?

certainly not the shadow cast over my day as i'm consumed with the taste of a morning-glazed kiss. certainly not my insecurities. not my misplaced sense of belief, for what is there to believe in if not you? so no, i would not kiss you today and i would not allow you to kiss me even if you were to have been right next to me as i woke up this morning.

if things were like before, i'd disrobe you completely and until the sun rose i'd bend you in different positions, rearranging you like the night wind to the desert dunes. but once you left i'd cry, and what's a tear worth? what's that disappointment-riddled reaction to the cheek it runs down?

so if we slept together last night and woke up this morning side by side, i'd tell you not to kiss me today, i don't have patience for the poetry of your lips.


the same thing 

it must be the same thing the barefoot children wonder; how am i ever going to get there on these bald tires?

distance is relative, i know. i've told you this before and echoed it throughout these pages. but still, it cuts me just as deep. your smile from afar is a blade to my veins, stops my blood cold, and i can't heal. i pause before a photograph of us, just as frozen as those past versions of us.

i don't feel so good today. i feel weak. i feel tired. and i miss you. not the you you've become but the you you used to be. you were mine, once. and while it's not the property i long for (because you weren't really mine in that way, but rather in a different way, whole and complete) it is the you from those days i miss. it's that former version of you i see when my desire takes flight with my sight.

in those days, my eyes hurt when i closed them. my pupils burned holes through my eyelids because they couldn't wait even the fraction of a second it takes to blink to see you again.

it must be the same thing the barefoot children wonder; how am i ever going to get there on these bald tires? i know that i, too, have changed. we are both busy being new people. and that is probably why just like i can't love you anymore, you can't seem to love me either.

it must be the same thing.


irony in the flesh 

you came to see me yesterday. snuck up on me asking, "what are you reading?" i looked up from the paperback and found you between me and the sun. blinding me. you sat down and slapped my thigh like an old friend. said, "i'm tired of this city." still looking at you i responded, "what can she be, being what she is? this city...." but you didn't let me finish. started going off about all the bullshit, the kids in a rush to grow up, "she doesn't make sense to me anymore," you added. "she isn't the same. she's not home anymore."

and all i could think was how ironic this was. you, next to me, telling me of how "she" isn't the same anymore and yet you continue to love her. how ironic, indeed.

you continued to speak but i got lost in the thoughts your words arose in me. at times i have read of stories that come after other stories, only those earlier stories weren't told because there wasn't that much to say about it. so i understand that perhaps i stretch you too thin. after all, i witnessed as you yourself did it just yesterday, sitting next to me in the afternoon sun going on and on about "her." but love, bearing all of you... isn't that how i loved you best? isn't that how we all love best. taking the very small and making it into our world, our dreams, the universe.


the sounds of me 

i know you still remember the sounds of me. i know because even in the bars crowded with people who don't matter you turn around when i open the door. you hear me through the music, people and space; all that doesn't matter but is there just the same. you see, everything is a metaphor. you remembering me means the song of my voice still plays in your head.


i don't believe i've ever told you about the time when the earth was very young and just newly courted by the sun, and the ironbound was not yet bound but just a clump of trees that rose like statues of nature and streams that flowed like in tales of old.

before they made market street, before they made the newspaper and the supermarkets, only a few things were as they are now. this was very long ago, before even the lovers and driveways that arrived with the rain. this, of course, was before you and i. it was long, long before us. long before i could say, "love, even the brightest of stars is but a minor pearl in the dark blanket you give me for a sky."

you see, back then things were so different, so opposed to their future, so unlike what was to come, that they were nearly identical to now. then, just as now, the paths in the grass of time were laid out. like a fate. destiny. and i think of you and i, walking along that old man river so lost with pollution it no longer recalls its former self, but rather bears other tracks, marks, wrinkles time and deception carved into its stare. yes, i remember all that, but will i continue to do so with the passing seasons, or will this longing for you fictionalize what truly was? you see, you are like the banks and i am like the river; over time, you have grown distant from my liquid caress.

it would be so perfect to walk with you again, by the polluted river, barely making it downstream. it would be so perfect to be alone with you without me getting in the way; but even after all this time i'd be just as afraid of losing you. just as afraid of getting lost in your mouth. afraid to let go and live. petrified of love.


lost souls 

these days the streets are lost. souls bitten by hurt and disappointment walk aimlessly like zombies. the ironbound is just a place where i fell in love with you. it's not why i fell for you. just a location, an address, a chance to do so. unassumingly. unannounced.

we napped together and i, after waiting for you to fall asleep, took your hand and tried desperately to memorize your thumbprints. your hair. i even attempted to learn the humid measure of your breaths, trying even to model my own breathing after yours. because when i missed you i could soothe myself taking in the world as you do, and letting out pieces of myself in a rhythm similar to yours.

the fools that sit at these tables are clueless to this. to any of this. they see you walk past and whistle. they let out cat calls. you just walk on. break holes in the oxygen. you walk on your heels. you move so confidently. each step so certain. and the fools at these tables drinking until they forget the time. as if by forgetting it they can live forever. and ever. and ever.

you haven't been around in a while. you haven't come to see me and confuse me with your halfway departing halfway arriving comments, kisses, embraces. i sure wish you'd visit me again. i don't like the certainty of you being gone.
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