you were a dream and a half. you were a book i left unread, missing the new-book smell of its crisp pages. when i found you again in the back of my mind, grown dusty with life, i felt like i didn’t know you. or that i had known you in some past life.
i remember reading you the bhagavad gita on a lonely afternoon, when you were convinced we were all going to be born again as butterflies. you thought it was beautiful until i pointed out that butterflies didn’t live long. you went quiet on my lap, and then said you loved me for the first time. i kissed you as if i knew you.
even if we barely speak to each other, know that i will forever love you. i love you more in silence than in words, because my words i don’t know how to handle. sometimes they’re too much and it takes me four tries to sound out a sentence.
today i thought of how i would kill myself. i came up with semi-elaborate plots.
1) befriend a pro-gun activist, shoot myself when they’re not looking.
2) travel to the great barrier reef. expose myself to irukandji.
3) travel to mumbai, get mixed with all sorts of bad people, piss off a drug kingpin, die in garage with jumper cables attached to my nipples.
4) basejump off the burj-al-khalifa, miscalculate trajectory, smash a sheikh’s new bentley into oblivion.
all of a sudden i want to live