Went out with the X for meatball madness. She gave me a Pentax camera which was unexpectedly sweet, but also felt like something of a consolation boobie prize: I keep hearing the x in pentax. Later, I had a disorientingly real and banal dream where I watched her sleeping with her head against my chest and I had that feeling of being home for the first time in months, and then I woke up alone… but with a camera… that sounds like five axes. I went to take a shit and read this poem by e.e. cummings:

it may not always be so;and i say
that if your lips,which i have loved,should touch
another’s, and your dear strong fingers clutch
his heart, as mine in time not far away;
if on another’s face your sweet hair lay
in such a silence as i know,or such
great writhing words as,uttering overmuch,
stand helplessly before the spirit at bay;

if this should be, i say if this should be–
you of my heart, send me a little word;
that i may go unto him,and take his hands,
saying, Accept all happiness from me.
Then shall i turn my face, and hear one bird
sing terribly afar in the lost lands.