He said that he felt that there was a book hidden between us. Some small thing lodged between a rib or a summer. and He wanted to find it.

He left the next morning, searching for a city with light that reminded him of me. He would mail me empty envelopes and boxes, I would take them into my closet, shut the door, and quickly open them. A flash of foreign light would fill the room, but only for a moment. I would whisper ‘this is what we’re like, this is what we’re like.’…

She told me there was a place on my face she wanted to inhale.

Nowhere hidden has ever turned away a goodheart guest.

The city they are building asks you to stay; remind yourself what is worth keeping, while the lighthouse of your moan warns the ship of your heart that he is a stone.

Later when they would mention, they would say, and everyone would know, but not nearly as well as they meant.