Page 147 of Wayfarers

“I’m gonna miss you,” Sylvie says.

“I’ve already said that in the letter, but in a more poetic way.”

“Not the letter. I mean I’m really going to miss you. Genuinely and unironically.”

“The way you like the sad banjo music?”

“Exactly.”

“I’m the sad banjo music of people?”

“Kinda, yeah.”

Knox I’ll Miss You Too

I’ve always existed

in the liminal space between

now and then; never able

to see beyond the immediate

horizon; never really needing to.

I lived without history;

without future—this, I was made

to understand, is the truest freedom

and I get it now because

the moment Sylvie said I’ll miss you,

the voice speaking for desire’s secret

heart replied, I’ll miss you too

and I realized I’d never again

be completely free because memory

is a skin, not a shirt; something you wear

and can’t take off.

That week I spent with the Girl

with Serious Eyebrows; the Girl

I Kissed to No Avail; the Girl

Who Made My World Larger; the Girl

Who Said I’ll Miss You.

Give me liberty or give me death, someone important