For You, but not for you.

To the passionate, the flawed, the learned, the witty: This is for you. On my windowsill, with my chin cupped in my hand, I’m thinking about you. You think I am kidding because your hand is cupped too, but it is cupped around another cupped hand and mine is only cupped around my face, but I am not kidding.

 I am thinking about you like locks think about keys, like my fingers think about keys, and the way teachers think about keys which is similar to the way basketballs and singers think about keys.

Watches think about time more that clocks think about time, and I think about you like watches think about time. You are time and I am time, but we cannot both be time, because time waits- but waiting is what I do, and waiting is not what you do, but waiting is what lines do and I think about you like lines think about waiting and how lines think about points (maybe you are a point) and how lines think about depth. They wish they could have a little bit of it.

And that’s true, but so is this: Amelia didn’t make it out alive and neither did Balboa, and there is a reason you don’t know who he is. I think about you like compasses think about land, except they usually think about oceans even though they would rather think about land. I am looking for you. I am looking for you in the way that Cytosine looks for Guanine: they need each other, and they are perfectly compatible. They are perfectly compatible and that is why I am looking for you and that is why I am thinking about you.