in a oaken, long hallwayed house near chapel street (all golden orange in the aftermorn)- leaveless trees line the street and lovers sleep in, amongst blankets and pillows on the floor. it is winter, and the girl we are staying with this time is interesting.

yesterday we stayed in a motel. our room was bare and outside we could watch cars pulling in and out of the second level of a carpark. i imagined the sea and sand outside instead, saying aloud, look at the ocean but there was no ocean. in the night we listening to the theatrical moaning and groaning of a lady and man in the room beside us. the air was stale.

before that we stayed along little collins street, on an eighth floor apartment. small balcony overlooking the glittery city at night. we climbed stairs and drank wine from straws and plastic cups on the rooftop. in the morning we'd catch the elevator down and walk out and be admidst the hustling rustle of city. we'd go to sleep to the sound.

before that, the night i arrived, the night after i booked the flight and the day before my lover's birthday- we slept at the airport. we slept in the food court, beforeward m read the journal i'd filled with a desperate want, words and words and words all saying the same thing. i miss you. but now breathing each other, life again. it is so cold, i walked outside and drew an invisible cigarette from my lips, breathing smoke/fog breath.

now my fingers are cold, i am naked beneath covers waiting for m to come back with food from the iga at the other end of chapel street. i am still here because outside is too cold and m wants me to be warm and he loves me and he loves me and he loves me.

i haven't taken many pictures. i'm slowly losing that part of me to this love. right now it is all i am.

i am sorry for the quiet, i have been other places.

n