Alex Manley is a writer and worrier born and raised in Montreal. His work has appeared in Maisonneuve magazine, HTMLGiant, Powder Keg, Shabby Doll House, among others.







Do you remember the images from the poems I wrote? The way I was a deer, and you were the moon, the candy peaches, the mango strips? The way the light was—not angry or loving, but just there? Because all i want is to stay with you in this schroedinger’s cat relationship until the summer, when we can fall apart from each other and each into something new, like a gilt statue splitting down the middle, and each half sinking to the glittering bottom of a different swimming pool. All i want to do is feel the way I feel right before we fuck for the last time, every time we fuck for the next last time. All i want to do is write about the things in the ocean, the plant and animal life and all the dust motes slowly making their way through sunbeams, glinting, skin cells from all the people who were born on land and died in the water. No one ever tells you not to date the ocean. The winedark ocean. Scintillating. The things you get yourself into and then can’t get yourself back out of again. 

(First appeared in Everyday Genius.)