One day he will kill the greatest prize, bring it home and hang it by the hindlegs for all the town to see. He strokes each bow, feels sleek & fine wood beneath the tips of his calloused fingers, considers each arrow in his roster, thin lovers to twine with the string. The only love a bow knows is the kind you must let go of, to let prosper alone. Sailing through the air is a solitary art.

Day by...

So I leave. I bail. I say nothing to no one, keep my bag strap on my shoulder, reverse my way out of the office. I ditch the cold ham salad lunch I’d brought myself, watch it sink to the bottom of the bin into oblivion. Rat food. I walk.

I feel weekday daytime on my skin for the first time in god knows when. After nine a silent bell rings and the streets seem to empty. There is quiet. I even hea...

I pack my bags and linger in hallways in different towns. I smile at strangers, friends of friends, like it makes sense. I have a routine, a favourite breakfast, a goal to meet everyday. I watch the sun sleepless as it rises and fall with all the raindrops that roll down my window. I exist. Linger in the hallways. This is what I want.

I never meet you. I never have my reason to stay and chase th...