No. 2.

Every Sunday brings one of two things. A hollow crater in my gut that I imagine has remnants of moth wings clinging to the walls (and maybedefinitely even one or two still flying around very much alive), or, a wish-wash in-out breath-sigh in my heart (I hate using the word "heart" to describe anything, but in all honesty, the feeling seems to be situated in that particular area of my chest).

Today is Sunday, and I have both, and I don't know what this means. I say that a lot lately. I don't know what this means.

Also, lately, everything that I do has an attached emotion. I go to work and that means joy. I get on the train and that means anxious. I get off the train and that means missing. Actually, everything that I can feel or describe to you in the last weeks is somewhere between those three words.

I've been taking pictures, here and there. Talking to strangers. Getting pieces of poems caught in my head instead of pieces of songs. Like, "I try. I do. I try and try." Yes, it is that simple, and yes, that is both good and bad. "Hello, darling, welcome home." Same poem, different endings, at least if you apply it here. Where am I? And you? I want to call you home again. Simple.