I tend not to know what the plot is or the story is or even the theme. Those things come later, for me.
To write about someone like myself would be very limiting.
He has been disassembled by her. And if she has brought him to this, what has he brought her to?
A blind lover, don't know what I love till I write it out
I'll be looking at the moon, but I'll be seeing you.
In the desert the most loved waters, like a lover's name, are carried blue in your hands, enter your throat. One swallows absence.