yes chef

In case you were wondering why I have the energy of an electrocuted fawn every time we cross paths, it's because I'm feeling the weight of every past & future lifetime we've shared stretching out before us into infinite horizons. My nervous system can withstand this for about 15 seconds before it collapses and I have to bolt.

I'm not sure what kind of vaudevillian interdimensional prison I've landed myself in where I am sentenced to run into you three times in one week. But the frequency itself doesn't rattle me nearly as much as the juxtaposition between the etheric lightning shooting out of my joints when you speak to me and the utterly fluorescent mundanity of the fucking grocery store. The earth opens up beneath me as you mumble a joke about the rack of ribs you're staring at. I think I'd feel less humiliated if I just slipped on a banana peel walking down the aisle.

I'm sorry for feeding you riddles of religious persecution instead of just telling you that the love I feel for you is so innocent and pure as well as a raging primordial fire which threatens to swallow everything. But you're married. Womp womp. How amusing that an institution built entirely upon the subjugation of women stands in the way of my rabid desire to submit to you.

It's not like it even matters. I'll be Hester Prynne'd for this regardless of whether or not my thought crimes take corporeal form. I've looked into that future already. It's boring. Whatever. I'm sure I'll see you soon.