Love

I will prove to the world that love yields nothing but the raw essence of autonomy.

It’s a summer mismeeting, a mismeeting of people and their things.

Am I? No. I was!

But within Sara’s gaze the world grows still.

You are not a half, nor a shadow of another.

A butterfly landed on my chest, like one who settles into an old couch, where everything has already been waiting.

After she flew, the garden remained.