Feeding Hope

I have a thing for trajectories.

An unhealthy crush for projections.

An addict’s need for models of what could possibly be.

I linger on Zillow at night and drool.

What could I be if I lived here?

Or there?

Or anyplace open for a nut with hopeless romantic tendencies and a dog?

Hope exists on what-if’s… and I feed Hope well.

Until tomorrow…


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