amsterdam
we didn’t find it at first but there is a ferry that takes you there. every day and repeatedly, on a tight schedule as indicated on the bright, slightly larger than a3 sheet hanging here and there. its brightness is particularly noticeable when all you have surrounding (in) you is gray. a lover like me feels the world’s lines as if they were novel discoveries; feels the world’s grays as if they were tight shoes, slow but sure deaths. i’d been lucky, some noted, as i rested by the window. but my senses were absent. the invasive reds insistently screaming guts, blood—deep breaths, old cigarettes, black rose tea. and i let you in, a slowly penetrating body of a past that remains. for a lover like me on a ferry like you, a letter of what could be.