luce

i keep hearing the fridge.

it sounds like it’s sighing.

it’s weird that no one ever talks about how alive appliances sound when you’re too quiet.

if you hadn’t lost it, i wouldn’t have found it.

if i didn’t find it, i wouldn’t have written my journals (nothing to write on these days).

and if i didn’t write my journals—then whose notes would i be using to post my to-be blogs?

thank you? thank you.

(no idea what this gif entails)

you’re a student, for sure.

you had doodles in the corners—eyes that look like they’ve seen god(s), or maybe just a really boring math class. you were bored. i would be too. your notes resembled drawings more than they did lectures, and you've used only a few pages (more for me).

i tried to write over them, but the pencil refused to stay still.

sometimes i think your handwriting is fighting mine. it's like you're inside, saying "this is mine."

(i let it win. finders keepers)

today i underlined the word begin seven times. not sure what i was beginning. maybe this, maybe nothing, maybe beginning is just remembering with better handwriting.

nothing really starts.

it just picks up where someone else left off.

there’s a lipstick mark on page twelve (12)