A love story in several moving parts. Originally published incrementally on Instagram.

Animation of a colon punctuation mark blinking as if it's a set of eyes.

Title: Punctuation: A Poorly Titled Story About a Boy. Title: All the Things we Left Undone: A Story About Two Boys. Title: This is What I Have Left: About You. Title: I Tried to Title this Once: The Title Kept Growing: I Just Kept Adding to it Because I Couldn’t Bring Myself to Summarize You like That. Title: ~

Animation of a hyphen, en dash, and em dash growing from nothing.

You were sad-happy—sometimes happy-sad. On more than one occasion I caught you in a fit of angry-sad-happy, which was a nice—frightening—break from your simply being sad-happy. March–June you were mostly just sad-sad. I don’t blame you for it—some things in life are worth being sad-sad about, for at least a little while—I couldn’t ever blame you for it. Now—from where I’m standing—you’re most often happy-sad.

Animation of a period bouncing like a ball. As it reaches its peak it spins into a comma, on the second bounce it splits into a semicolon. The animation loops between these three states of being.

I liked it, that thing you did; the thing where you’d lift me up by my lips and set me down someplace I’d never been, never thought to go. It wasn’t much like you, but I liked you, and I liked it when you did it, and when you did it I didn’t tell you I liked it, so I’m telling you now. I’m telling you now, how much I liked it.

Looping animation of a diagonal bar that splits the frame in two and espands to fill the space.

I was always tired/lonely/very lonely when I’d roll onto my side to look at you. The moonlight creased/split/slit your face in two and I couldn’t touch it. I couldn’t mend/sew/heal you and you didn’t even know you were splitting at the seams. Quietly/silently/seamlessly you slept and I didn’t. I didn’t.

Number symbol with bright splotches of color animated in the negative space.

You were #3. You were also #2. And I suppose #1 if we’re being honest. Or also #1 if we’re being wholly dishonest. Though if we’re being dishonest, I suppose you were also #5. And #6. Sometimes I like to think of you as #27, that’s only because I like the number 27. And of course, if we’re going only by your word, you weren’t at all.

Animation of a comma with an eye on the bulb that blinks. With each blink, the color of the pupil changes, switching between the primary colors—red, green, blue, and black.

I couldn’t’ve, shouldn’t’ve, wouldn’t’ve loved you. And, since I do, I’ve done a lot of things I couldn’t’ve, shouldn’t’ve, wouldn’t’ve done if I didn’t. So now I’ve done a bunch of things I couldn’t’ve, shouldn’t’ve, wouldn’t’ve done all because I did something I couldn’t’ve, shouldn’t’ve, wouldn’t’ve. But I can’t, I won’t, I don’t want to get over you.

A question mark is animated being drawn. After the first animation, it is animated again in red, yellow, and blue. Finally, the question mark is animated away before the animation loops again.

What was it you wanted to ask me? Just urgent enough to unstick your body from my own, but just muttled enough to retract, what was it? Why?

A psychedelic animation of an exclamation point. Yellow, blue, and red rapidly eminate from the black exclamation point in the center of the frame.

If you ever were to say ‘I love you’ you’d surely say it with an exclamation point. An enthusiasm reserved for moments when sincerity is questionable, exaggerated if not falsified. Reserved for emails to people you don’t miss or text messages to one’s mother. Reserved for times you feel you should be feeling, but you aren’t.

An asterisk spins into a dot and then spins back out to an asterisk.

* ****** ***.

Quote marks spin counter clockwise.

“Would it be weird to say I miss you?”

Parenthesis become a blinking eye in this animation. The pupil darts from side to side.

We sat together (facing each other) on your bed (with the red wine) and I helped you pack your past into a glass box (one of those shadowboxes, you were going to hang it above your bed in your new place). The box was too small (there was too much of you that mattered). No matter how we tried to spin it, no matter how we shifted, snipped, and folded, we couldn’t fit the pieces together in a way that made sense (we didn’t fit together in a way that made sense). So I left (eventually). I packed up and left you there (with all the pieces of your past spilled around a glass box).