I cry and wonderhow I’m going to fall asleepbecause sleeping means wakingand going through all this again

Even the pigeons are dancing, kissing,going in circles, mounting each other.Paris is the city of love,even for the birds.

I visit him a few times downtownwhile he paints.We talk about how he’s going to Spainfor the fall semesterand he shows me a painting he didand points to this one part,a bridge, and tells me...

I don’t like this ideaIt is too much focuson something I am trying to forgetI am afraidthat this attention to detailwill only fuel my anxiety

I’m trying to decide what’s worse. Someone being gone, but still out there, or someone being gone forever, dead. I think someone being gone, but still out there, might be worse. Then there’s always the...