We didn’t need to do any hard figuring to see if we were compatible. The harder part is that time is often not compatible. Although, I liked acting my age with you. Our ages. Younger and stupid. Or older and stupider. Like when my grandpa lost his white rooster. He was asking people to please let him know if they’d seen him. People would say, What does he look like? And my grandpa would say, Well, it’s like I just told you: he’s a white rooster. On the older side. It’s not like they were looking at each other all the time.

That’s how it was when we first met, I think. Just knowing what the air around feels like. Really close to our skin and buzzing in a quiet frenzy. But I didn’t even know what your teeth looked like all in a row. I couldn’t conjure that image. 

And then we were really lost. Like both of us stood up from inside ourselves and wandered away and went swimming or something. Of course I wanted to search for our real selves, so we could come back together again. But I didn’t want to use force. 

If you’ve seen two people wandering off and swimming or something pleasant, and glowing like magic air or like a summer moon, would you please let me know? 

Well, what do they look like? 

One walks alongside a red bicycle. Neither of them are a white rooster. I felt like my grandpa. Just missing our discrete time together. 

Being lost doesn’t always feel good, especially when you can remember what life was like before. My mind got kaleidoscopic with memories. All the time that went by was spent like chewing crayons, the days slow and waxy, one-by-one. Sickening revolutions and grinding mastications. Swallowing; spending a lot of time thinking about you. 

You used to live closeby. And you worked right by my house, and I always hoped and imagined we would see each other, but that kind of stuff never happens. And anyway, if that did happen, it would probably be on a day when I looked my worst, my teeth all stained with colors and my hair white and frantic like a bird’s. And you’d probably be looking your best, all your freckles earthy and flickering. This isn’t fun anymore.

I think I’m starving. I think I’m cold and tired. I think I need to sink into a fresh water spring and let things pick at me until I’m gone. Erode and turn into many little stones. Put up a sign that says, Free River Rock: take as much as you need. And hope that you would need me.