In the Crowd

There's a glitch somewhere in the windows; cold air rushes in and makes the room unbearable. I took a hot bath and nearly drowned myself lying under the surface for too long but you can't tell now, considering the chill of my fingertips.

The apples I picked in their garden are rotting on the counter. The grapefruit that only cost 6 SEK. The flowers in the window. Everything rots. My body. I make myself a drink but it does me no good; I make myself a life but I don't live up to it so what the hell. You lose some, you lose some.

He writes poetry, I devour it and want always more, always more. When we were young we would tap our teeth to know when we were intoxicated; I tap, tap, tap now and don't know how it's supposed to feel. I think I take these pictures to be able to stare unabashedly at people for hours on end, to look you in the eye and not look away. Perhaps the same goes for everything I do. Don't be scared. My camera won't bite.

I imagine I could steady your trembling hands, but I can't make promises.


...I'll be yours
if you'll be mine. 

But I can't promise that, either.