a reconstruction of a hypothetical conversation with no one in particular that was originally written on a rumpled piece of paper that i can't find.

"i miss writing to you. rather, i miss writing you — making you as i write because of you."
"i don't understand. say what you mean for once. stop fucking 'bloviating.'"
"it's a game that you know how to play, too. if i want to say that your ignescence frightens me —"
"'ignescence?' i'm too hot to handle, is that what you're saying?"
"if you want. but doesn't it seem, well, crude when you put it that way?"
"but it's what you want to say, right?"
"in a manner of speaking."
"you could just say 'yes,' you know."

//this was longer. i think our cleaning lady threw the piece of paper i wrote it on *again*. the first time she did it, i managed to fish it out of the garbage. maybe the universe is trying to tell me something.