A Constant Draft of Fiction
Lovers, Egon Schiele, 1914
by Masha Tupitsyn
You will write less than you feel for me. The one before you was all writing. The feeling was all for the writing or the writing all for the feeling which existed only in words for that page that he thought everyone, including me, is. Relationship as a constant draft of fiction. But there must be some form in between. The one that (true) lovers use and won’t use for each other. The one that is off the page, beyond the page. Too good for just words.
Piece crossposted with Love Dog.
