I have a hundred diary entries
that start with your name and a
hundred endings asking for help
a hundred theories on why your
response was so crass, a hundred
scenarios where I only say I'm sorry
I'm so, so sorry a repeated thought
where I despair over never being able
to talk cordially with you again, I don't
know why I care, why that photo struck
a lofty chord, why your beard bugs me so
much, see: June 2013.