the absurd is a hug waiting on the platform at the end of the line. 'welcome home'. I take his hand to close the openness I can't deny enjoying with your help. his fingers are cold and familiar in a way yours could never be, though I can't say I wanted more than what you offered out of momentary intrigue. was it kindness in the end? when the sanctity of night retracted its claws, and the crows stirred, and the early rays of day colonised the delicate darkness of your room, and you woke to find me wrapped and fragile by your side, did you know you had to run? had you noticed the cracks in the fresco up close as I slept? did the spell break all at once? I start to think in past tense, though you were just around the corner. maybe if we used our words you still could be. maybe if I use my words you are.
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