Onedaysoon

“I’m sorry. I’m rusty. I feel disconnected. This is hard. We’re out of touch. I’ll start again. I’ll try to be simple. The last time I saw you, you asked me to tell you what I wanted. You said you couldn’t tell. You don’t even have a favorite color, you said. But that’s not true. My favorite color is your favorite color. My favorite meal, yours. Why does this make you so angry?

 

I have my own mind but my desire is not a thinking: It’s an echo, a reverberating shock. I am so much yours, I am no longer myself. Is that so wrong?”