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How do you spend your time on this planet?

Are you awake?

Did you get enough sleep?

Did you stretch your fingertips and squint against the morning sun?

How do you spend your time on this planet?

I’ve been thinking, lately, about how it feels to fall in love.

Are you in love?

What does it feel like?

Or, what did it feel like?

Some say it feels like a Sunday morning, unhurried and soporific, time gentle and sticky like honey, if not sweeter. Some say it feels like dying. I think it feels like laying in the patch of floor warmed from the sun spilling in from the windowsill.

I’m not sure if I’ve ever been in love, but I will still devote my being to the idea of it, because that’s what we’re meant to do, right?


I lied to you, and I will do it again.

Are you angry with me?

Again and again and again.

I lied! I am in love!

What do you think about forever?

I think it’s not supposed to be forever. That’s why it is so precious.

I want to go dancing.

Do you dance?

Do you hold space for wonder and play?

I think that’s the closest we can get to magic, if you believe in it.

Do you believe in magic?

Do you believe in a god?

Do you believe in the void of primordial chaos, the gap from which the world grew?

Believing in magic is essential to my wellbeing.

Have you considered latency?

Do you embrace subtlety?

I dream of him. I dream of him. I dream of him.

Do you lay on their chest and watch the hull and heave of their body as they breathe?

Do you lay in the space of floor warmed by the sun and mistake the feeling for love, too?

How do you spend your time on this planet?


Goodnight. I love you.


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