i would love to look in the mirror and fall in love.

i fall in love with others daily.

walking down the street i find myself admiring a delicate collar bone, tight rolled jeans, the way her hair falls in dark tendrils cutting from one side of the page of her face to the other. i fall in love with all of the intimacies that her presence affords the world.

as in relationships, so in passing.

i fall in love with the details.

i can see that in you and see that in her, and for myself, well, there is this vacancy.

i shirk vanity as i am consumed by it.

you know I cannot blame you, you American women. we beat ourselves up for being too attached to the slight build of delicate youth. the boyish hips, the mere suggestion of form, the slender way a thin one leans into the edges. but what we admire is the suggestion of a body as opposed to our obdurate existence.

i would love to be a mere suggestion, a cursor on a page, merely leaning into reality.