Literature
BPM can only tell you so much
All my life, I have called you Point A, tried to
calculate how far I am from you, constantly
racing towards the horizon, trying to stop on
an even number. But metre sticks can only
measure so much, and our arm spans, radiating
from our compass feet, do not intersect. You
say that is far enough but I long to twirl on long
wooden legs back to Venn diagrams, where our
lines overlapped, where I could trace along your
curves, instead there are other circles holding
your infinite angles, and others let their lines
slip into mine. I pretend I am not staring back at
you, wondering if it is metres, miles, or millimetres.
(When we stand with ou