with love and squalor

there's a little balcony outside our apartment where our clothes hang out to dry in the night, and where i hide out and let thoughts of him permeate all over. i've been content with living in squalor, even though most of the time i'm looking for his fingers, all i find are 10¢ stuck on my hair (luck!)

i wrote to him during chinese new year when i felt particularly disconnected from most things because the entire city was empty for 5 days and i roamed the streets, only to find sparkling water as the only remaining form of decadence available.

through the window, i can see my neighbours playing with fire crackers downstairs. our apartment is all white and filled with the sound of a tiger when you try to shear their fur. i am always without your presence.


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