Fog rolls over Hong Kong, and I haven’t seen a taxi for days. Last night was the first time I asked you to not talk to me, after peeling the sheets back and slapping the fabric over the coal dust windows. I only wanted to sleep with you…I only wanted to sleep next to you, to dream. In silence and in streetlights. Simon and Garfunkel and all that Beatnik bullshit. You said there was no timeline to the truth, that you believed me even before when I could feel I could tell you. You believed the truth without having to hear it.
Pittsburgh was too much like Brooklyn, and Chicago is too much like the world. The rest of America seems soft and strange by comparison. Oh, I love you. Oh, I’ve only just started to love you. But oh, how I’ve loved you. I loved you in the Art Institute. I knew it, and it scared me, how I didn’t just want to sleep with you.