Three Weeks of Firsts and Lifetimes

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Today I was instructed to trim the stamens of the the lillies at work. If I don’t, the pollen gets everywhere, sticks to the clothes, leaves traces on the carpet– it is impossible to remove once rubbed into a surface. You’ve affected me much like a lily; pollenated my mind. I cut each stamen into an envelope and take time with my task, trying with careful hands not to drop the pollen onto the carpet. When I am done I have an envelope of pollen and stamens and I have the fanciful thought of sending them to you– fragrant mail, carrying words in symbols, my affection sticking to blue and white and staining your hands upon opening. I feel foolish and write these words instead.

The other night we made lentils for the first time. But we made lentils before that, didn’t we? Moving from two chairs to one– an outdoor “loveseat”– we had to remove the contents of those side-by-side seats, remnants from your childhood friend’s visit spilled in haphazard repose: lentils, various papers, a clamp, a stick-on tattoo– and then we leaned back and soaked in each others company; lentil stew. So the other night wasn’t our first time making lentils, you see?

Meeting you seems a contradiction of firsts and lifetimes– like a memory without the experience. Am I making sense?

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