once, if at all

Your sparse make-up routines found their way into my daily bathroom habits, watching with the inner side of my eyelids, your movements, mascara. The sound of you walking down new york city streets (a huff and puff), crowds: people sometimes listen in so you whisper, take pauses at street corners and in parks when people get too close, these words are ours, you say. you said. Thorough pages turn and I am scrawling out some mad dream free-style rants into the ears I have never whispered into, hold the hand I have never held, smile at the face I�ve never smiled at. I keep thinking how some things are once in a lifetime.

2004-07-16 | 8:29 a.m.
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