You've Got to Start Somewhere

I had the idea of sitting still while others rushed by. I had the thought of a shop that still sells records. A letter in the mailbox. The way that book felt in my hands. I was always elsewhere. How is it to have a body today, to walk in this city, to run? I wanted to eat an apple so precisely the tree would make another exactly like it, then lie down uninterrupted in the gadgetless grass. I kept texting the precipice, which kept not answering, my phone auto-making everything incorrect. I had the idea. Put down the phone. Earth, leaves, storm, water, vine. The gorgeous art of breathing. I had the idea — the hope of friending you without electricity. Of what could be made among the lampposts with only our voices and hands.