Don’t do that.
I’ll leave you little notes to remind you
and you’ll find them in your pocket and your lunchbox and your shoes. The writing will be red and loopy and
sometimes scribbled.
When you see me, check my eyes. See how the smile doesn’t reach them? You might not notice because if you would, I
wouldn’t have to say anything at all. It
will be tight, the smile. Quite obvious.
If you ask me questions, I will reply “Yes”
and “No” and “Maybe.” Also “Nothing.”
Your
tea may have a few ice crystals in the centre as I might forget to remove it
from the freezer early enough. Or it
might be black around the edges. Are
both at once possible?
I won’t compare you and your brother as
lovers, unless you make me. I may start
the research already though.
I will wedge a piece of fish between the
seats of your car, barely hidden so you can find it. But you won’t find the small slivers I’ll
stuff into the air vent. You’ll smell
them for a long time but you won’t find them.
I won’t repeat myself.
Don’t.
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