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…
Chloe
