Anchor, V.: I Drift, I Drift, I

A Sound Waiting To Be A Word.

It’s Up To You, Not Fate. True. But It Was Also Up To Lily. That Was The Trickiest Part.

Instead I Head To The Computer And It's Like I Turn Into A Little Girl Who's Just Seen Her First Rainbow. I Get All Giddy And Nervous And Hopeful And Despairing And I Tell Myself Not To Look Obsessively At My Buddy List, But It Might As Well Be Projected Onto The Insides Of My Eyelids. At 8:05 His Name Pops Up, And I Start To Count. I Only Get To Twelve Before His Im Pops Up.

I Feel Such A Tenderness For These Vulnerable Nighttime Conversations, The Way Words Take A Different Shape In The Air When There's No Light In The Room.

There's No Way To Release Yourself From A Memory. It Ends When It Wants To End, Whether It's In A Flash Or Long After You've Begged It To Stop.