(11:40 p.m.)
This is to experience the
persistence of memory inreal time--footsteps
matching the cadence
of inhale, exhale, and I
am nineteen years old again.
It's the middle of the night,
hot and humid (as Chicago
summers always are. In
other words, a world that is
far away from here and now).
I am dizzy from the heat,
from the liquid courage in my
veins, from the boy holding my
hand, who kisses me on quiet
empty street corners with
passionate abandon. I picture,
then, what it would be like to
inhabit this space for myself--to
be here, in this city, making a
life with him. Sometimes,
you get exactly what you wanted.
And sometimes, it's even better
than you ever could have imagined.
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