Love is blindness.
Surreal is when the New York State Deputy Secretary for Labor squeals and calls you cute. Surreal is when a New York State Senator bristles at being called a nerd and you just stand there in your leather jacket with a moleskine full of notes on that scifi novel you're working on in your satchel, looking on. Surreal is one of your best friends texting you pictures of the gala she crashed where President Obama was in attendance and then she texts you pictures of her dress and you realize that Barry O wasn't the most impressive person there. Surreal is said Deputy Secretary of Labor putting her hand to your back while you're feasting on the best lemon chicken you may ever have in your entire life, prepared at the behest of your cousin, to bring you over to meet one Mayor de Blasio's many commissioners and missing the man's name because your head is still swimming but taking care to note that his beard is remarkable.
Surreal is remembering that just this past Sunday, you were here.
Surreal is being told that almost all of this will happen again.
Surreal is remembering that just this past Sunday, you were here.
Surreal is being told that almost all of this will happen again.