You tell me the pale lilac shirt I gave you such a long time ago is
still with you, even though you are a travelling salesman who never
stays long enough in one place to feel anything at all. You tell me life
was richer then; months and years passing underneath our feet while we
were busy hiding in the shadows in order to not get hurt. It’s a nice
little alcove you have pencilled out for yourself – free of
accountability so that you can stay in your play-pin a bit longer,
avoiding boredom, avoiding trying to catch anything at all. How does it
feel to move at speed but not at all? I would give you sterling
silver/dollars/euros in order to find out and I suspect I might regret
it. Your extravagant heart, your extravagant hands – I used to love them
beyond words as I did you, but we are both covered in ash now.
I am afraid one lilac shirt will change nothing.
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