i didn’t have much else to write, but i came up with a few short things, here now, as they appear on the paper, are those short nothings:

i speak from experience when i say that no one can understand

i have some flowers for you. i think the’ll look good next to the bed. the came in a vase that is shaped like a swan

it feels like may, until it gets dark, then i know it’s february. newspapers blown against the wall tell me a storms coming from the west. work is for the weary, it keeps my mind occupied, off of you. no one can understand

if i wrote you, would there be a response? can you tell me it’s not a joke.

if only i knew i wasn’t alone. then you’d come and hold my hand when i cried. nothing brings tears like falling apart, nothing brings joy like coming together.

you say you’ll always be there, why do you lie?

sounds coming together, making pictures. dust forming on the corner. shadows, stale on the wall. soft light from an unshaded bulb.

adam.

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