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i wanted to write you a letter

 it always takes me some time to make up my mind, especially when it comes to language: Español or English? and then, the mind does not end made up, it just happens, seemingly out of my control, like so many other choices that aren't revealed as choices until much, much later

when it is okay to pause, roll another one - these days it's just not feasible to buy them all rolled up and ready to go - and think about the last time i read some of your words, or that other moment, jam packed with Drama and fabulousity, or so you claimed, while wishing me far, far away

back to that moment when it all went south, as if it was ever going any other way at all; the west may sound better and rhyme, but the south is where it all comes to a head and the mess is always better. there were times when i thought it would have to make sense - the motion, the passing, the ongoings going on

the one that got away back for more, the perils of online night visitations, to google or not to google, there must be a video of it somewhere... perchance the darkest web, where i know not how to tread, much like your constant screams and fists raised up to the stars, the moon, the big black nothingness

that always seemed to arrive just in time to soften the edges and hide the ugliness at arm's length away, on a night table, a round table, a periodic table of failed forays into matter, bodies i just can't remember in an empty, darkened house, pinky toes in for the pain

and when it finally dawns on me and i find myself staring out the window, confused by what i always expected to see out there, i know the memory resurfaces now for a reason that i will never be able to pinpoint with any degree of accuracy, let alone find your name where it was written so long ago.