"Think of me next time you visit," you said, and I wanted to laugh. I wanted to cry. You still didn't know. You didn't get it. Needless to say, I thought of you all the time.

“Don’t touch me if you don’t mean it.”

“Consider this: we fuck with the lights on. You trace the flat shape of my breasts when I lay down. We keep the windows open because the rain smells like the closest we’ve ever been to Heaven. We watch the ferns drip like they’re heavy with honey. I cut red peppers in the kitchen. You put on every song we’ve ever fallen in love to. I’m beginning to lose the difference between our skin. I’m cold when you’re shivering. I ache when you’re lonely. I can feel the warmth in your pink, fluttering heart, and I hold it in my hands.”

“We were in love, but we never said it. Our art was always about each other.”