A little unforgettable
I walk in as if I’ve already been written about by someone else.
I smell like fig trees outside an old bookstore.
The playlist I curated is called Main Character Evening in the City.
On soft paper, folded once, a little creased. Just for me, maybe for someone else, if the moment’s right:
I came here to ghost that version of me that stays quiet in warm rooms. I came here to let sweat and conversation collect in my collarbones. If we lock eyes tonight, ask me. I’ll lie, or I’ll tell you everything.
The kind of person someone would notice from across the bar and assume: they think in constellations. They would be right.
I’ve got Samantha Harvey’s Orbital and a small notebook in my tote bag.
“Everything exists in relation to everything else…. Nothing in the universe is alone, and nor are we.”
I’m a little unforgettable. I let the city flirt back.
The air smells like rain and something warmer.
I don’t speak first.
I don’t chase the moment.
I’m orbiting.