Everything under the sun, at any time. Watching a far off love affair fade into cool tones. String my prodded memories on a chain like dried corals, forced off their ocean floor. Don’t think I mean to ignore you, it’s just easier to block uncertainties that clarify this reality, my reality. There’s all this pain I never let see the light of day, so much disappointment that I keep tossing the dirt on top. I track the tears that string along to the back of my head, zooming down the bike lane on the Williamsburg bridge. I find comfort knowing none of this is really mine, even if my steps pretend it is, I feel in some ways the world might be mine. But I didn’t realize that would include the dark and dusty objects too. That we often ignore the brutal realities that we decorate ourselves in are now dried out. I tried to mold the broken parts back together and restore the life functions. But it won’t come. Now we both realize we’ve lost anything to say to each other, that we only speak in observations. Between us we have a barren ocean floor, and all its sea creatures are drying under the sun.