where do those unread emails disappear to?

I write to you with a massive prefectly round eggshell yellow moon dancing between the black leaves of my tree just outside my room at my folks house. I seem to have made another small office where i spend most of my hours in. There’s something about a high backed chair, my ibook, books i need to read on the windowsil and my old journals around me that make me never want to leave my room. but i do, i moved from one wooden table to another.

I sat arcoss the beautiful mahogany squared table in a sickeningly new and trendy bar full of people who think they’re cool but not, just a judgement call. i try to explain what i had written in the email that has somehow disappeared to where all unrecieved email end, floated around with atoms and molecules never to be recovered. And of course i can’t articulate myself, as usual. and when i come to the point about it isn’t because i now can’t have him, i want him. she gives me that face. The face you get when your bestfriend thinks your lying. the face that i get off him when he thinks i’m being shit. But i stand up for myself. it’s only later did i realise he could have been mine. i never thought he wanted me to be his. in his oh so formal way, it think his words were. 'i think about you, and being your boyfriend, and it does cause me friction.' yesterday was spent thinking a lot about the man on the hill. but my recovery has been so quick, the quickest to date. and when before i talked about how feelings never seem to fade. maybe they dont, but the time spent pondering and then recovering shortens and shortens until they just no longer matter, that they become fleeting thoughts and disappear with all those unread emails.