We’ve been 500 days in the Lonely Place, or 20.8 seconds. Which is more important?

Some days I find it immensely difficult to say or think anything about a world altered only by 1/24th of a second from yesterday, about which I could have written paragraphs. So don’t blame the world.

At a certain point, the cigarettes cease to exist. This is the place you are meant to be.⠀

I look at the configuration of their fingers and think: he’s got her right where he wants her now.

If this experiment is teaching me anything, other than how to further refine one’s own stubbornness, it’s that when you give yourself all the time in the world, you’re obliged to become introspective. Everything you see becomes a mirror of…

No, I will go. I will speak. I will plunge headlong into this moment that, at the very worst, is only me: “Gloria…. Gloria. I…had to say something. Otherwise your cheek, that shadow on your cheekbone, that shadow was going…

Shall we attempt a line or two? Her eyes are closed in concentration, ready for the message. Do I dare disturb the universe? Would it have been worth while, To have bitten off the matter with a smile, To have…

In avoiding knowledge of what he’s saying into her ear by writing about everything around it, allowing myself distractions, am I avoiding the most important message I’m meant to hear? Or am I eliminating hiding places, assimilating every peripheral element…

The lines on the silk of her dress now flow towards Bogie. You are what you wear.

His smoke has formed the letters “An”, and into her ear he speaks, “…Anthology of a thousand and one champagne bottles emptied in succession into a b….” Our words come from places we rarely glimpse and never truly understand.⠀