unsaying

I may have lost you in the silence after shouting. That other night. When I drank too much. Assumed

too much. Assumed deluded self-importance. If I wasn't quite so needy and so hopeful that you

might be my last, it would be ... hilarious ...

how I push you for a sign that I might be deeply precious.

More than a distant and intriguing brainwavespark in this messed-up ether.

How I see myself as some kind of guiding light for love when I screw up so much. Time and again.

How I am so dazzled by my dreams. How I still believe in them. You. Can I unsend the email?