for the hope of it all.
i am the augustine of this story: how all of my love is scattered in wasted extra tickets
and stubs of cancelled plans.
there is no other way i know how to love.
bus and trains we've missed, concerts we never went to, movies we never
knew the endings to, galleries with paintings and sculptures we'll never mock.
i take my heartbreaks in twos.
it was the only calamity not escaping pandora's box as it opens,
too heavy and sinking at its bottom.
in sins and vices.
the most heinous, in my system.
