daily volumes, lost. upon postal waves, upon landslides of feeling and my own inability to hold onto anything for longer than i absolutely must. there's the rub, perhaps. perhaps i am completely unprepared to hold on to anything, unskilled in the art of acquisition.

i am so much to you already, and i see you everywhere. in post offices, behind liquor stores, when i am wide-eyed and ready for the world and when i am crouching half-hidden because i have already seen too much. i have no faith in the world, but i believe in you. it would never occur to me to do otherwise.