i. I feel like my legs have been stamped and sent around the globe - perhaps one flew to Austria to hear the string quartet that stole my heart, and the other walked to Amsterdam in hopes of finding the soul I sold, now stored on a shelf in a mason jar.
ii. There is no metaphor, only mileage - a life lived long enough to realize that love speaks louder than language, and all an artist can do is strive to describe the strangled kiss with hit and miss letters, myself no exception.
iii. I remember tearing a photograph in two and trying to stitch a half of each of our faces together - forcing them to fit. When I looked upon the product, the monster I'd created, my legs began to shake.