To be beautiful, you have to be seen. To be seen means you are subject to a thousand wounded perceptions.

And to be seen is to be hunted.

If you are to be hunted, you need to remember to stay swift, fast, impenetrable. Impossible to fully learn and retain. You need to exist just enough to be on the verge of disappearing. Like all ephemeral, temporary beautiful things. Natural anomalies. A non replicable sky. The sea. Effervescent. Impossible to hold.  

Never too tangible and just beyond reach. 

I let myself be handled just a moment too long, and it shattered me kaleidoscopically. Expanded me, wove me to you- to the point that your fabric is etched into every peripheral of my reality. I see you in myself sometimes and it hits me in the chest, with a sporadic celestial nausea. Like having a heart outside of my body.

I have velvet green bedding, and my heart expands the corners of this strange city. Through the imported palm trees, hibiscus, purple twilight bougainvillea. The lakes, deer and coyotes. I called back my light, swore to stay on my own timeline. Forgave. My body felt radiant again, like I had swallowed orange light.

The next time I saw you, you looked grey, half satiated. Beautiful as always, but foreign. When you walked away, hurting, I could feel it for three blocks.

Like having a heart outside of my body.

This absurd, non-linear timeline procured a stain on my soul. In the privacy of my bedroom I turn it out and inspect it, like a strange jewel, glimmering with unresolution.

Haze can be safer than the kaleidoscopic.

I write notes about you in my phone I will never publish. I read my grievances to the ether. I pray to the trees. I know I’m bad, ephemeral, changing, obscene. There was so much you never learned, so much you still don’t know. You made assumptions that hurt. I am trying to exist, cooly, with a foot in some private Otherworld. Trying to stay neutral and forgive myself for trying to reconcile the sacred and mundane.