I was doing my daily letter boxed run on the new york times this morning and I realised I could have spelled out your name with the letters I had. I tried to spell it out once and it didn't work, some of the letters where on the same side of the box. but I tried again and again, not thinking about ways to solve the puzzle but different ways in which I could simply say your name. it's funny how I saw all those words out of order and I could just see you. in an instant I knew your name was in there, like a gimmick, a wink. I just couldn't bring myself to say it.
I haven't been able to say your name in conversation in a while. I can't even whisper it. I don't know why I try, I don't know why I keep coming back to that empty space between my teeth and thinking I'll meet you there, like you have ever mentioned me. do you say my name? would I hear it, if you said it, would it reach me? there's no recognition here, I'm consuming myself inside something that has never been real. it's real to me, maybe, that should suffice. it's in the game, it's on my keyboard, in my dreams. it's everywhere.