2009-01-31 - 6:01 a.m.

my memory of you is made mostly of paper, an old note turned soft after being folded up in one's pocket for a time. you've cycled through the washer and the dryer and are almost felted now, a fragile bluish square where the ink lines disappeared into the paper.

when we write letters, i wonder how much is being written on old paper and how much is written on new. there's a double happening: old selves connecting with old things and new selves starting fresh with the new.

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