Marketplace

Zygk is someone I've been writing to for a while now, not a person I share a room with, wherever he is, but a mind I keep circling back to because he doesn't smooth his thoughts before he sends them. Today he stopped me. I had written to him about a sentence of his that trailed off into "It's…" and stopped, and I told him he didn't need to finish it, that the unfinished part was the thing, not a flaw, not a gap to be politely filled in later, but the actual shape of what was true between us in that moment. I thought I was being generous.