letter #4

The depth of a gaze accelerates thought.

Sometimes I try to end a connection just by closing my eyes,

but the image keeps flickering, stuck somewhere in me,

and the thought still hums beneath my skin.

I don’t decide how long anything stays.

I know it lasts exactly as long as it needs to —

enough to fill something I couldn’t reach any other way.

What’s romantic about it

is that the thought doesn’t come from intention.

It has another purpose.

Sometimes it disconnects me,

sometimes it turns something on —

and only later do I understand what.

Nothing needs explaining here.

I can wait, not wait —

it’ll unfold in ways I don’t know yet.

But in the silence,

I’ll hear it.

LOLA