The mist that gathered on my window this morning is now frozen. The light from the streetlamp, orange, hazes into my room where you are asleep and the only other illumination is from this laptop. What I can see most clearly is the outline of my fingers. You are a horizontal shape an arm’s length from me. You…

For the first time since summer, I feel so lonely I could die. Here I am on a Saturday night: a blanket tucked over my legs, hair crushed onto the pillow, tickling my neck. There are two bottles of beer waiting for me, warming. I will drink them, and I’m hoping I’ll forget…

I listened to your favorite song tonight, the first time since I said over the phone I didn’t love you anymore. It’s been six months since then. It’s been a long six months. So long I no longer remember whether or not you had creases around your eyes when you smiled, or what the shape of your ass was against my…

I remember biking on Xi’an’s city wall the hottest day I’ve lived through so far. Sun strong as anything, my shoulders glistening with the promise of burn. I was wearing sunglasses but still squinted against the old brick that made the walls, the ground, the square pillars that dotted…

It’s been three days since I met you and you’re 8000 miles away. I’ve transposed you into an ongoing daydream about which every time I think, a piece of loneliness squeezes up from my throat. I’ve been drinking a lot of water.