I don’t know what to say your sister is in the other room and your mom just came into the kitchen. She scolds you about the dirty dishes but it wasn’t your turn today. You say sorry, mom's like that. I don’t know what to say the computer on the dining table is dim and I can’t really see doesn’t look like you’re writing the report. A heartbreak song is playing, you’re whistling along. You’ve heard it eighty times, says your sister, coming out of the room. Not true. Well... maybe a little, you say. Have you heard it? Yes. But it’s not true. I don’t know what to say I look at my watch. You told your mom we’d work until 6:30. It’s only 4:30 and you haven’t even taken your notes out. I have everything out, justifying my presence. Why are you so quiet? Because we should start working. Oh, right. Okay. What title should we put? And I didn’t know what to say. You typed some generic title and spent a long time changing the style. Slowly, changing the style. I didn’t know what to say and gave up trying to think of something. I need to touch you to talk to you. Letters are too long, texts too short. Objects and breezes move between us when people are around. But it’s fine no one is as patient as I am to arrive at desolate hours. There will always be unexplored islands in the world, beaches in endless naps. Upon them we’ll speak kissing. We’ll speak crossing into each other. We’ll speak with nothing to say.
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