Where else will I see you? In a museum that's showing an exhibition we both want to see. A library, staring at books, staring at each other – my arm around your shoulders. A coffee shop, sharing a pot of tea, me itching to reach out to hold your hand. I was never allowed to touch, so I settled for sending text messages at midnight and sending your favourite flowers to your doorstep. Where else will I run into you? I’ve seen you once this year – at a concert. We stood right next to each other at the bar. I thought I was going to die. You didn’t look my way. I couldn’t look away. Where else would I see you? In another city? In another life? Maybe this one wasn’t meant for us. I dredge up the past, beat myself up, and cut myself down. I stare at developed photos of you that I keep in envelopes and allow myself to cry for weeks. Memory lane is the only street that allows us to exist because no one else did. It allows me to acknowledge that I
