“This Is The Nineteenth Line Of The Poem. I Am Waiting For You To Look At Me. Sun Bleaches The Paper.

“This is the nineteenth line of the poem. I am waiting for you to look at me. Sun bleaches the paper. Time slides through the flesh. Someone on the corner is imprinting the building with a kind of humanity just by touching it. We are often in mirrors and small in this suffering. This is never enough. And of course I’m still here waiting for you to look at me.”

— Alex Dimitrov, from “The Past Remembers You Differently,” Together and by Ourselves (via bloodroot-and-bliss)