the song sounds like Barcelona. they say it with a bitten down th sound, did you know? My god, the number of things I want to tell you. Though you wouldn't understand. Such a simple mind. Ample space. But you never understand me, never take me in. Inspiration is a bolt of lighting, a freshly sharpened silver gleaming knife that slices into my fleshy heart. A past me emails current me. A letter from. March 4, 2022. She wrote that she was feeling musical. She hoped I adored her still. The continuity of life. Ouroboros. It won't pass. I'm still musical. I'm always musical. The song sounds like Barcelona. Dancing in a rundown apartment building's communal kitchen. Dancing in our hotel room with the dim orange lights. The orange I share with my friend on the balcony. The oranges all lovers share with one another. Drifting in and out of love. Like I'm an astronaut who forgot where her spacecraft is. Watching the NASA channel at 2 am with my little sister. We find shapes in the stars. The stars that tell us so much. Sweet sapphic stars. Do you have any idea how many people have traced constellations into skin? My friend wants to get a tattoo with me. I'll be another with a constellation on my skin. I'll be another. Another lover, another friend, another past, another letter. I'll be another.
