I can make no longer make a distinction between your freckled-flesh resting solidly in my palm and dissolving straight through me, as in a dream.
It is a dream?
Oh.
I understand: every night a similar phantasmagoric flash of all these rituals unique to our love, only to wake and forget the specifics. I have tried to purge you! And might’ve, if I hadn’t created this fantastic twin to remember. When did that happen? Long before we had our falling out.
