Jasper Sloan Yip
foxtrot
Foxtrot. Dance around the room. I gotcha, and babe you got me too. What are we doing, Honey?
Wake up. Open up the blinds. The sunâs out, let it in your eyes. We could be happy, Honey.
But all our sins take up too much space.
Speak up. Try to make some sense. It feels good to get it off your chest. Iâm trying to be honest, Honey.
Break up. Letâs tear it all apart and maybe get back to where we started because this is getting harder honey. Itâs getting so much harder because all our sins take up too much space.
We both feel like paper sheets spread flat across each othersâ knees: if crumpled, folded, torn, or creased the lines would last permanently.
Foxtrot. Take me by the hand. I gotcha, I could be your man. What are we doing, Honey?