We told each other so many things in the morning at lunch at night in passing
I know that he was in love with that actress . X knows I like to eat canned peas. We know X gets pissed when she’s drunk. We know T likes to bake instant cakes anytime. We know Z is a narcissist but we still like that person. These are just a few kernels in the whole can.
But what matters is that over years of walking to and fro together and I wasn’t even really there there a shape of me and them came like so many points flying through the air not to make me or anyone but to pinpoint something where thousands of days later
In a restaurant in little italy, or at a venue in midtown, or at a cabaret in the lower east side, I could startle at the things they know about me that I thought I only knew about me and I can feel my belly pulled like a root to the ground of how I know what he or she is going to say or do or think and in that knowing them
I am my self for the first time but in relation to a million little things from a long time ago when things meant nothing
Exhibition 1874 