A continuation of “Positioning.”

The camera stays there, a quiet witness, as I finally let myself exist without framing, without distance, without apology.

I fall asleep on his chest, his arms wrapped around me. 

He lights up, the flame revealing his face in brief bursts. I try counting his moles, but the light dies after six. He takes a long drag, eyes drifting upward, then exhales smoke toward the tree trunk—thankfully, not me.

The city hums around you, but in the stillness of your porch, you wonder if you’ve ever truly been anywhere at all. The city is the same, but you are not—and in that split, you finally notice it all.

Whispered silences carried off like smoke from a fire left empty after the rain. We made s’mores there once, but the memory thins the longer it drifts away.

And when I finally step away, I hope I’ll remember how it felt to be small beside these structures, to be the newest thing in a place older than my name. 

And maybe it isn’t you I’m starving for, but the version of myself I imagine when I devour you.

I had read it twice, carefully, without bending the spine, without marking a single page. I like my things in pristine condition—you never do. You leave pieces of yourself everywhere, in the smallest places, in the spaces no one else thinks to look.

When I get really depressed, I picture myself in my late twenties— overweight, alone, clinging to friendships that only exist because I’m funny.

Would I become a fugitive on the run– hiding from myself, my actions, and my own personality?

Yeah, the band on stage sucks, but the way you sway makes the experience worth it.

You don’t need to separate yourself from everyone else. You just need to get out of your head.