i.
i woke up with a thorn in my side.

ii.
the water’s cold in spring, though we’ve visited your cottage every breaking season i’m still often cold. you’re looking out at the lake, quiet and brooding as usual.

iii.
lying together in bed, i twist your finger through my hand and squint at your temple. when my eyes are bleary like this i can sometimes picture theatre unfolding on your forehead, and just now a woman has opened her mouth to sing. i kiss your hand, frowning.

iv.
rain is so bothersome. the umbrella you gave to me is wearing, shreds of bright yellow imploding as the fat drops punch its belly. i don’t feel safe, so i start to run again. people rush past me on the street and it feels like everyone’s running with me, but really i’m the only one and my galoshes are making everyone else’s pants wet.

v.
over our heads are bitter clouds ready to burst. it’s going to be a sunny day tomorrow. you’re making me a wreath of flowers to dangle on my head, and i’m looking down at you, feeling scared that my heart will burst in a moment. you whistle a tune and loop the chain of flora around me – we hug, i kiss you. it’s going to be a sunny day tomorrow.

vi.
one morning i wake up and you aren’t in your bed, so i put on one of your old shirts and walk around the house in search of you. eventually i make my way to the front lawn, say hello to the neighbours, but i’m still walking. the pavement is hot and it stings my toes – i haven’t put on my shoes. i walk for days, to the next city, the next province. you aren’t there . . . you aren’t anywhere. my heart deflates as i realize you’ve gone somewhere that i can’t go right now.

vii.
i’m lonely. i’m lonely. i’m lonely. i’m lonely. i’m lonely. i’m lonely. i’m lonely.

viii.
sand feels good under my feet, reminding me of how we’d re-enact scenes from the books your grandmother gave to us. the tea cozy on my head keeps me warm in winter, but it’s summer now so i’ve covered the tea cozy in plastic wrap to make me sweat. lying in the sand feels good, your face feels the same way, i think. a crab wanders past me and we look eachother in the eye – there’s a world in it, the equator is just beyond my reach. i close my eyes and try to make everything go quiet. eventually, it does, but i never reach the end and i’m not happy when it’s halfway over. suddenly i’m reminded of one day when i broke your umbrella, and i want to cry but i can’t because i’ve gone to sleep. i’m lonely.