often i fail to distinguish hysteria from love


but unlike tomas, i've known you for two years.

still, like the neighbourhood boys in the virgin suicides, i am mostly clueless, left with your superficial layer, already full of its glory, i wonder if i would collapse seeing what's beneath

i like you, taking my hands

i love you, all the coincidences which follow(ed and will forever follow), how we bump into each other, in the inside of the train

what a reverie.

but coincidence stays coincidence, love stays love

that is all because i've stopped to look beyond that.

i could, of course, persist, go on, because i love you, really, and had i not loved you this much, you wouldn't have to hate me that much too

we would hold hands, board a train that takes us whenever it wants to, because i love coconuts and roasted corns, beaches and mountains, waters and fires, anything i could share with you

but assumption stays assumption, hatred stays hatred

i'm thinking of how if i love you less now, you would probably hate me less too. but my love for you wouldn't turn into hatred and your hatred for me wouldn't turn into love

your gloved pupils, they shot me a "you're an infectious catastrophe" look, the invisible bulletproof layer wrapping your skin held a sign, saying "stay away"



put an end to this would you.