I will act late, too late, when you’re at terms with the fact I’ve fucked other people, that Jenny and Dan and Mon are single numbers on a triple digit list. There aren’t triplets. But we all have aims.
And when I act you’ll imagine every second before, the sections of life and quarters in which I could’ve intervened, every interaction welcome, like an unexpected sequel; Before Sunset.
I act anyway, late, because I imagined life was a loop and I’d catch a repeat of you. When I realised it’s not, I wouldn’t, don’t, I extinguished every flame that honestly was an unlit match, merely threatening fire with rubbing and I never rubbed anything. I saved every hand job for you.