in absence your body persists in my longing as image
persists in the retina, giving illusion of constancy.
no, I don't think you should return: what has been written
between us, has exposed us to each other in a way that won't
allow me to imagine how to live with you again
I wonder how do you see me now. more clearly perhaps, then
if I were actually there to interfere with your image of me.
since writing the above line, I've been out all over the
city, but to you I might as well have still been at home,
you would have never known, I could have just resumed
writing with lines following seamlessly, not indicating that
I'd gone out, or that there is indeed any other world
outside of this letter...
as a child I often wondered, did the characters in a book
that I was reading keep going on with their lives whenever I
put the book down? whenever I read a difficult or
captivating passage over and over, did the characters wait