i’ve been chewing on your fingers, wondering if you’ve noticed that my names are changing or realized that the love letters have all been administered via public domain because they’re not really “for” “you” in the way that people share these kinds of anecdotes to be possessed by their recipients, as if one could claim any real ownership to the way a “you” makes a “me” feel. (hell, it’s not like a “me” could even lay real claim to a feeling.)
it’s more about the way the “you” and the “me” come into contact, the way the “we” interact, more like body-beings who fold into and around each other with infinite permutations, a specific set, entirely different from but also complicated by an infinite set for each and every other body-being. and maybe, if you were so generous as to abstract that thirteen different ways, we could continue these other conversations we’ve been having this whole time in a new light.
i started writing this because i wanted to explicate some sort of distance, as if to say, “despite the earnest and ardor, i’m thinking through the way we’re folding and it’s quite nice,” but, fuck, this got romantic and intense, and quite quickly, and maybe that’s just the way i fold with you - the repeated collapse of space and control.
