You asked me whether I remembered? I laughed apologetically.
I don’t remember any of it, but I am stuck in it.
Being stuck essentially is having all of your time warped.
What is time to an obsessive person? I want to indulge myself and think
of you. How does it matter if a minute of musing could cascade
into years? Let me have it for a minute longer.
All my time is yours, but you don’t ever arrive to accept it.
And that’s okay,
because you are happenstance.
The nature of obsession is such that it requires no audience,
no reciprocity, no memory.
It’s an island of pain, content in itself.
No, I don’t remember what you want me to remember.
But if you had the patience, I would gladly show off
what I have built on my part of this distorted dimension.