MONDAY
Christopher came over to tour my summer-fortress yesterday and I was careful not to misplace anything at all; no touching of the ship in a bottle or the vines climbing up the edges of stone building or the relics in the meditation room or the light that floats through the trifecta of arches upstairs. Light filtering through the kitchen and the living room and the studio and my garden suite. Christopher dozed off on a pollen-coated bench in my very hidden garden, and I smeared eyeliner over my eyelids in a mirror somewhere deep inside the creaking house. The drip from the flowers outside turned the whole place congested and emerald. I fell asleep on the daybed, silent and warm. Christopher scrolled on his phone outside, and when I woke up, he was pacing around my apartment, pollen tracking over wood floors and open windows. We brought the outside in. Very good here, Christopher said. Lonely, I replied. Men need to suffer for four years before they can live some fun life working i…
