everything else: vignette would be a beautiful name for a baby girl
dear internet,
my flatmate used to have st vincent's actor on vinyl and sometimes i’d hear it play in the living room while i was in my bedroom—sparse, mattress on the floor, a wall of windows from which i could watch the trees and the rain. in another city, in another apartment, there was a crow who’d visit me near-daily, perching perilously on the wires that granted me wifi; in all the videos i’ve taken you can hear me begging him not to destroy my internet. when the couple sitting across from us on the train got off at their stop, they said goodbye to us, acknowledging an intimacy: we’d had no choice but to observe them hold hands and whisper into each other’s ears, and they’d listened to us research the etymology of the town xanten. in my dream i watched a squirrel run up a tree, then run down towards me, and then run up another tree, and then later in the dream i waded through a flood with a friend who, in life, never replies to my texts. my flatmate owns a candle that’s older than one of my other flatmates. the only sentence i’ve said in fluent german lately has been “should i make it brighter?”
love,
t