NORWAY
We could move to Norway, get lost along the way, scrawl poetry into vacant doorways with the tips of our fingers. We could walk with a regal air, leave our shoes in the street, play hopscotch on the corner while dogs on long chains bark in tandem. We could isolate ourselves from the world, become self-sufficient, memorize only the words we need and invent the new for each other. We could form an obsession, on each other, or the world. We could vanish from the site of one another, leaving our slippers and pipe by the fireside for our children to discover. We could paint the world red, with only a purple can of paint. We could call ourselves a number, like seven, or ten. We could count ourselves on our fingers, while we wait for each other in a crowd of people running to catch the train.