In light of recent revelations, I've come to think speaking to me must feel like being in anticipation of something else. It's so stupid how long it's been a mystery to me that when I talked to people, so many of them look at me like they’re still waiting when I’ve already finished.

In late December, I went hiking the forests outside of Hope. I found a grand cliffside that went on for as far as I could see, the other side sloping down into the trash can of Cairo.

The meanings are all lost.

If I asked you to lie and say that I'm not this hard to see, would you do that for me?

Are you still packing?

I never knew I still needed the things I gave away. I hate to say I disliked his being there, but Brad took over my cabin, and in many ways, I didn’t feel I had ever really moved in. And so then, I made my own camp on the beach.

It’s easier to live not knowing whether I love any of you or I'd rather leave this place behind.

Is that it, John?

The lake was still.

Everyone had gone before us. Not even a bird to land on a branch. Your eyes were lost. Mine were the same then as the day before and so on. You wore my hat.

As we drove away from New Jersey, I didn’t feel like we’re going very far because I’d been visiting the ocean long before we left. It made me cry because I thought we could both see there is a sweetness is gone from us, from where we kept it under our beds. I get lost when I take it out and wrap it up in pretty paper just to prove I love someone. The days we all want to go away are more when the tides are lowest.

It’s beautiful, I just can’t recall where I got it.

It was a gift from me.

I tried to guess what made you cry that night. I I listened to you crying and the wind shaking the windows.

Please, can we just wait here a moment?

To remember everything as it was, I kept an orange peel in a satchel with the luck of our bloodline tied to it. Juniper.

I would kill you if you asked me to.

I thought there would be a softer place for us to sleep, but I was wrong.

Are you ready to go home, John?

I drank the water, with the root and the seedling, over your hair as you fell asleep. I told myself you cried for the rules of all the games we cannot break because of what good children we are. I ate our legacy and broke the spell for you. I’ve forgotten so much that you may never hear me say I remember again.

Yes, I was just leaving the curtains drawn.