The lights are always so much brighter in the evening, as the color descends and then dissents like a spiral but always in motion, we are becoming bigger and we are becoming brighter. You take out your phone and take a picture of the sky but it never quite comes out the way you expected it to. You put it on the Internet, I watch you, but its all pixelated and weird and kinda wonky and you are disappointed and you are prone to be and I kind of don't care.
We are at a very fancy bar that stays close for the month of Febuary because, even in this big city, they stay money ahead when they close they tell us. We sit and eat truffled frittes and drink some wine I can't pronounce and we are sitting closely, speaking in whispers about movement and action, someone should do something with this godforsaken city.
After the fancy bar: a walk. After a walk: my house, which we've been in exactly 28 times together but you can't ever seem to remember which floor I'm on.
When I wake up in the middle of the night, I am startled, as if someone is standing over me. But there is no one there, the window is open and no wind, I can't even pretend it was the horizontal mini-blinds making noise. I feel a presence and you are snoring. I turn on the light and I am scared and I am sitting on the floor, I am freaked out that you are here, like it's high school and I'm waiting for my parents to figure out that I sneaked you in but this is adulthood and its my apartment and its the middle of the night and people are walking incessantly back and forth because it is the basement and we can see out the windows to the street, it is street-level this window, and there are honks and arguments and drunks and clicks of high heels. It never ends. I am freaked out and sitting on the floor now in the dark and I am smoking a cigarette and you shift in the bed to your other side, grab the pillow, don't even realize I'm not there, which is fine. The way it should be.
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