[a.] loved to watch movies before heading to
bed. he didn't talk much, but he had the cutest
dimple. one evening, we were watching scott pilgrim
versus the world. his messy auburn curls, he did look
like michael cera. [b.] drew me during a nude
sitting, wanted to practice sketching bodies,
she asked me to pose: sit on a stool, lean on
the bed, stare at the moon, then her cerulean eyes.
her charcoal pencil had the firmest grip around
my waist. [c.] liked cooking on wednesday nights.
she had developed a hunger for spice after her
recent visit to thailand. taste buds opening
possibilities, she burned bridges at her former
company. she now travels with a heart in her belly.
 
 
[d.] always asked for a back massage before
going to bed. each muscle ached work anxiety and
ancient wounds. when pressed, you formed scars
of a touchless childhood. your mother wasn't so much
of a hugger, but i saw how you missed her so much.
[e.] oh, e: you, with your exponential smile:
how read me poetry, share your wild, bizarre
new mexico stories, play chopin on the violin,
lean on my shoulder to breathe. release. and i did,
when you had to leave. [f.] my constant, my failure.
you, who leave my bed soaked in sweat. your
weight is the burden of death. when will you die?
leave me. it's been ages. i have forgiven you. why
linger as false memory? one gaslight is enough.
 
 
[g.] and i drove around the city. g. always
beside me. g. rubbing my hands when cold. walking.
walking, then holding. listening. and listening.
g. is warm shadow. g., my heart. g. is on the road
to find themself. be safe, g., come home. [h.] and [i.],
when we met, it was like in the movies. we sat
facing each other in the train. h. asked about
the book on my lap. then, h. told me their story.
we walked around the city. the book was a little life.
their life: mother, queer, refugee. [i.] and [j.]:
ours was an unconventional love story. j. was
decades older than i. my bed was full of them: letters
and books, poems around the margins. j. was
my rilke. bed or the page — j. was always there.    
 
 
Question:
What possibility, but how to tell the story?
Which of the following:
 
a)     chronology
b)     choice
c)     categories
d)     collection of love stories
e)     a story of love,
        how each collected me.