to come home

[butnow]

in september I packed my bags (in a night) and read alice in wonderland on the plane and it was a bright day and the light reflected off of every body of water and every glass wall, and I fell for my new city as we slowly approached it, in circles. I have been here for over two months and feel no homesickness, because even when you feel alone, there will be elderly gentlemen who will offer you your first&only cigarette and talk about snow and say they will return in december, perhaps we shall meet again and it will feel like fiction, but for the faint smell of smoke on your fingers, and foxes running across roads (even here) and poets making you cry and beautiful boys who never say a word but take your hand and library porters who will say, "goodnight, my dear, and take care." and this on a hundred year old wall:



last night I escaped to the theatre and chills ran along my spine. (I love you so much I could burst into flames)