I named you amnesia. Silhouettes on a black background, dreams in your green room. Let’s just call it Norwegian Wood for today. Tomorrow we might be Joel and Clementine, because you didn’t answer me when I asked you the time of our death. You never expect us to be there.
You named me hysteria. Still knives in a empty homeground, smiles in my white room. Let’s just call it Sputnik Sweetheart for today. Tomorrow we might be Tomas and Tereza, because I didn’t answer you when you asked me the name of our birth. I always expect us to be there.
We could still work it out.
—A prose inspired by ME AND YOU AND EVERYONE WE KNOW (Miranda July, 2005). Dedicated to a former significant other, forever ago.
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