broke up with Chicago.

it is, nearly three weeks now. i married graduate school. it rules. the reliable rhythm of what was, There, is however recognized sincerely. Dear i left, a little more than half sore, with some broken things, laughing often enough to stay with Good. but mostly, enjoying closeness not recorded anywhere exactly, continually motivated by those hearts i knew, and have come to know. especially recently. the past year has been a stumbling series of curious second hands and terrifying imminence, displayed by swallowing thoughtful words while spitting out horrible ones, ratifying the inability to flush out the ears and eyes of phrases and events and fragments of their meaning that ring in them and burn before them, continually reasoning, confidently leaning on some shanky railing that overlooks a beautiful body in the spread of a cello note horizon.

i miss the lake.

Dear, i have not forgotten the color of your hands. here,
it is completely unwritten.

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