outwait outrun outwit


an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
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04.19.08, saturday afternoon

Even in the womb I procrastinated, emerging two weeks later than planned.

Curse or gift? Doesn't mean I don't care. I think about you all the time. I think about your unanswered letters, your unreturned phone calls, your love yous, all stitched under my skin, caressed, kissed, inviolably secret. You reverberate through the juice and meat of me. How can I answer, knowing my reply would do no justice?

At least I have this, written in my notebook months ago, only to have the right time and place, now!: Simone Weil wrote to a friend on another continent, "Let us love this distance, which is thoroughly woven with friendship, since those who do not love each other are not separated."


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