The Bird Book
He entered my room and called me Midas, running his fingers across the gold-leafed finials of my bedposts.
A circle. A slow, quiet inventory. The sense that I was somehow being measured and weighed.
He sank into lotus by the bookcase, my childhood first edition Burgess in his hands.
Exhale.
For the first time, but certainly not the last, I considered how much I would like to have him in my bedroom under different circumstances.
I have long desired to go back to that moment, to un-think that thought, though it would have changed nothing in the end.
I would still like to have the thought back.
8:58 p.m. - 2023-08-23
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