2002-12-15 || 7:53 p.m.

|| and waking up i could imagine your hands and the way your fingernails grow ||

i had a dream we were doing it. and it was something about the end of the world, something about a reluctant slide of the chain lock and taking off clothes but leaving shoes on.

i think pity came into play there. or empathy. or the fact that there are familiar scents: shampoo and laundry detergent, breath and skin, that are so comforting even to you, whether or not there are bombs and dismemberment closer than anyone expected.

(i can't see your face or your body so clearly anymore, but your voice and the words you choose to fill your mouth are ringing ringing.)

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