May 12, 2002
I love you: twice it stands out. Once, on an armchair, heart racing and beat pounding forth the words from your divine mouth. Second, ran back up the stairs and you blurted it out of breath, looked quick, then raced away again. Left two times straight after. Changed my mind. Then curdled in my gut, like poisonous feeling of fantastical language not meant to actually represent anything. Words like plastic shopping bags stuck to my legs, floated there by puffs of air from your lungs. I, stumbling, curse the goddamned weather and wish I wasn’t wearing this stupid skirt today.