This summer, I might go where the sunshine lives. Palm trees, no memories, no ties, no heartbreak to run away from. I thought I might try drugs once, but they tore up everyone I knew, and you know I’m not ready to be an obituary, despite the days where I’m melancholy. I want to survive…

I thought that maybe you’d like to stay the night, not in my bed, never slipping between sheets, that are wary of you, but in the garden, awake all night, stretching and slurring to keep yourself here for a little longer. You asked me why, and I pretended not to hear the question, not to…