the outside believes when Tim speaks. When >saw he recalls details from his past. Yet they still listen to the resistance was< n his voice, at the difficulty of telling rather than showing.

<   You knew how tightly I needed to be held. these memories of us together please me, but I restrain myself from mentioning, to keep you comfortable.


>   I believe the hospital drugged me in a way that certain things don’t come as easily to me. I had to relearn what my first days were like with you. I still wear my hospital bracelet, to remind me what state in which I do not wish to be. I don’t want to go back there. I have to combat the forces that make me feel so overwhelmed.

What if I stay broken? And then, you're stuck.

The car traveled a great distance without stopping. Her friend, Allie was given a short detour: Tim’s home. Compromised from years of neglect, he describes a place immortalized by his younger self. The landmarks he had once depended on, translated into a portrait realized by another author. I feel like you are here for me. always present. Do you think I'm being destructive living out here? Tim responded with a definitive, yes. Alley continued, do you think you being here could make it better? I found something in my basement, where things got the most water damage.

I look out into the passing world, surrounded by its invasive touch. Still my eyes cannot separate the likeness outsiders pretend to see. Given enough time, I may not recognize myself or the changing of the seasons around me.

be found. Her letter went from receiver to sender with nothing written in between. Had he forgotten the purpose >pots? Was he making a statement by saying nothing at all? Much like the three ellipses that pulsate on her phone’s screen, he prolongs stops< her anxiety as she waits patiently for a message that never arrives.

<   When I woke up, I must have cut off the circulation to your arm. Throughout the night you hadn’t change your position.


>   I hear you. I listen. I do hang on to every word. But so often, I’m not sure how to respond. The last time I saw you, we were standing in the rain and I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. And now we're here. It's you I want to wake up to, not this sunny image of you. Not this forced reaction. So I grind my teeth and hold my tongue.

What he would reveal and what he kept to himself were never separated. there was no desire to blend in, he wanted his image to be pulled apart. but no one was there to tell him he had gone too far. once having seen light pass through solid objects, the circumstances granted him access, that before he would have needed permission to proceed.

A little blip flashed across their screens. Single was now in a relationship. The change drew the attention of Sam followed by May.

the way he spoke, gave away his true intent. When he recalls details from his past. Yet they still listen to the resistance in his voice, at the difficulty of telling rather than showing.

Compromised from years of neglect, he >peels back the outgrown space he once immortalized by his younger self. The temporary landmarks he had depended on, lost to definition. His sleep< ttranslated into a portrait realized by another author.

<   I miss the in-person moments. One of my favorite objects in my room is an unopened overdraft bank statement with a note on top. It reads “I'm at Tim's.” I wrote it awhile back and left it out, in case Allie got worried. Often I would reuse it. Now it sits on the floor. It probably wonders, should she throw me away?


>   Tim, am I a huge mistake. Or even worse, a minor one? I started reorganizing my place. I usually call it “the house” but it's not. I usually call the train “the bus,” but it's not. It’s also easier to tell someone you love them if you are crying and you suspect the sentiment is unreturned.

When I was laying in bed with you I prematurely told you that my feelings were bigger than actualized. I always want something to be other than what it is not. Hoping that the attention I project on to it will be reflected back.

I look out into the passing world, surrounded by its invasive touch. Still my eyes cannot separate the likeness outsiders pretend to see. Given enough time, I may not recognize myself or the changing of the seasons around me.

take away. It went from receiver to sender with nothing written in between. Had he forgotten the purpose of the letter? Was he making a statement by saying nothing at all? Much like the three ellipses that pulsate on her phone’s screen, he prolongs her anxiety as she waits patiently for a message that never arrives.

I hear you. I listen. I do hang on every word. But so often, I’m not sure how to respond. the last time I saw you we were in the snow and I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. and now we're here. It's you I want to wake up to, not this image of you. not this forced communication. I grind my teeth and hold my tongue.

What he would reveal and what he kept to himself were never separated. There was no desire to blend in, he wanted his image to be pulled apart. But no >part one was there to tell him he had gone too far. Once having seen light pass through solid objects, the circumstances trap< granted him access, that before he would have needed permission to proceed.

<   When we're together, you teach me self-control by example. I have been codependent for a long time. It’s like running to the car in the rain, when another person has the keys.

Glen is home. He gets demanding when I am on the phone with someone else. I don’t want him to know about us. I don’t want to hurt him or make things worse until I have my own place.


>   I recount the same stories to you over and over. And you say, I know, you told me. And then you go on - what's there to resolve, you always get it your way.

Tell me, is it fuck off or I love you?

his expression, when Tim speaks. When he recalls details from his past. Yet they still listen to the resistance in his voice, at the difficulty of telling rather than showing. You knew how tightly I needed to be held. These memories of us together please me, but I restrain myself from mentioning, to keep you comfortable.

Compromised from years of neglect, he describes >doom a place immortalized by his younger self. The landmarks mood< he had once depended on, translated into a portrait realized by another author.

<   Today hasn't been easy. It’s the rain. I should be used to Seattle’s weather. But not today. I'm moving out of our house. Even though I haven't been here that long, all the things that I'm used to, have been removed and I'm no longer surrounded by the comfort their past holds. Tim? if it’s too much... if I’m too much, tell me.


>   I found something in my basement, where things got the most water damage, its a notebook with Tim written on the cover.


"I wait for your arrival. I'm standing by the baggage claim looking for your red hair in a crowd of strangers. I greet you with a long hug. You bury your face into my armpit and hold tightly. We let your luggage go around twice until we are alone - together."

The whole next page is blank. It’s strange that these broken texts want me to work directly from memory. So many words no longer legible.

A little blip flashed across their screens. Single was now in a relationship. The change drew the attention of Sam. He would look out into the passing world, surrounded by its invasive touch. His eyes could not separate the likeness outsiders pretended to see. Given enough time, he may not recognize himself or the changing of the seasons.

be seen. It went from receiver to sender with nothing written in between. Had he forgotten the purpose of the letter? Was he making a statement by saying nothing at all? much like the three ellipses that pulsate on her phone’s screen, he prolongs her anxiety as she waits patiently for a message that never arrives. When I woke up, I must have cut off the circulation to your arm. Throughout the night you hadn’t change your position.

What he would reveal and what he kept to himself were never separated. There was no desire to >keep blend in, he wanted his image to be pulled apart. But no one was there to tell him he had gone too far. Once having seen light pass peek< through solid objects, the circumstances granted him access, that before he would have needed permission to proceed.

<    You seem far away lately. And I want to bring you back. My mind doesn’t handle distance well. I look at your photos at least once a day. And I get sad that my memory of you will fade. I’m reminded of our first night together, I was nervous that it would be the last. I tried to catch your gaze, but I missed it. And I wasn't sure if you had looked away.

You once said that you consciously avoid eye contact. Preferring to stare at their words when it leaves their lips. Never their eyes. Because if you do, you can't concentrate on what's being said.


>   Tim. Tell me about Cecelia. Was she a good friend? In the letters you showed me, there seems to be more than a friendship. Something that was never quite fulfilled.

As if she always wanted more.