on days when i convince myself that we're the same person. and all coffee mugs turn into the precise weight of the one i held at the airport the first time i watched you cry. i wander the streets of this frozen city. and thank christ for ice cube trays. and the fact that i can get mad at you for wanting me to stay just a little bit longer. the way blueberries hold themselves in the memory of my mouth. and how you always know i'd rather have the pain au chocolate and a very strong coffee. that i like to sleep late, but will feel guilty and won't enjoy it if i do. that i'll get mad at you if you go or stay. that i like to deprive myself of food and sleep and laughter. because i forget that most of the people i've ever loved in this life have died young. and i'll never have children. so on days i sometimes do. enjoy excessive things. pinch myself awake to live. and to love.

[and to french toast.]