Casual neglect

I've never been able to fall in love gently. There is no such thing as growing slow like vines creeping together, entangled. I am a freight train following a flashing sign that reads LOVE in bold red letters, the kind with fat bulbs lining their middles to light up the night. 

And so I lose track of things, selves, ideas. I let piles grow on the corner of my desk. My eyes forget to see what once was crystalline. 

I still love it here, am finding my way back. Hello, again.