he liked my glitter.
we talked at a cafe and i didn't pursue it. he was tall and terribly marine like. his eyes were for fireplaces and his skin was for snow.
i am learning the art of leaving things to the imagination.
so in my traverse city diaries (which i write psychically once a week or so), we skin something by an ice fire in lake effect snow. he shows me a picture of a childhood friend he has tucked into a hooded coat. he says her name like he says his own and beyond that we don't talk much.
just the crack of the fire. the fish