this email is a complaint –
a formal one.
Oh, lodge it, Ava, do.
Goodlord –
and here I almost lost my thread –
carried down that old and winding river – the one you
cannot swim in twice but try a thousand times.
I’m trying now.
Hey, Ava,
here’s a question for you –
if you insist I make an account with
Goodlord – this other body, party, platform that you’ve
partnered with
and I do just that – make an account, enter
my details, wait for the code, input said code into the
little box, and once
I’m registered and ready, this
partner of yours has me click through ads and offers
from their partners –
insurance, energy, etcetera,
before allowing me to view and sign the document – a
document you could have just emailed to me directly –
what
is being traded here?
Is being sold?
My dear, my darling, Ava,
my little letting love – I’ll tell you,
it’s my eyes,
MY EYES, Ava.
And I’m lucky,
oh boy, oh wow, oh don’t I know how
lucky I am
to have even walked those marble halls! To
have picked an apple from their orchard and eaten it in
their hammock.
To have had a private conversation
with their small van Dyck.
There was a problem though, Ava,
I was greedy.
I was greedy for those spaces – for the panelling, for the
