28 Sep 2012
It is impossible to walk around the corner and not see your face in every gerbera. Reasoning and raising our voices, only one twist of the lamp's switch is enough to wash the city of its patina. I once wrote a love letter and inserted it into a balloon and let it take off. Every now and then, I receive a wrong call on my phone. I'm thinking it could be you, Apostrophe. Across state lines, there's a horizon called New Jersey where the tungsten glows hot, where the jets circle the sky like a pearl necklace. It's not that hard to imagine the world without, really. Like any other blue shirt in the back of the closet, it's the smell of lavender that reminds us to long, to pine, to rescue our words from jumping off the ledge of our tongues.