we saw carly rae jepsen in concert when concerts still existed and dedicated side b didn’t exist yet

we’re not, like, the romeo and juliet kind of romance. by
which i mean we’re not straight white people and we’re definitely
not the teenagers played by thirty year olds in every american movie’s
romantic subplot where lampshaded or not the boy climbs through a
second story window to see the girl. but, like. if you wanted to i
would let you. i would except for that my house is one story and my
windows probably don’t open that far and the healthy homes standards don’t
cover the way the outside of my house bedecks itself in mould like some
fuzzy coat peta would protest and the mosquitoes—i don’t need to
apologize for west auckland—you know west auckland. my current concern
is the way that circumstances conspire to keep us apart. i would
faint except my flatmates are on the one couch good for that kind of
melodrama, and in any case our lounge has exactly one window that
opens and we’re all stuck in there with the only heat pump and, well. if
we could. if you wanted to. you already know i shout the honest
yearning of the latch our landlord keeps forgetting to fix.

Featured illustration courtesy of author.


In a dream, you saw a way to survive, and you were filled with joy.


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