When we love without expecting anything back, we try. At least we try; there’s always that.
They’re in close proximity, but they never touch. Once their fingers brush against one another; once skin makes contact, it becomes real. And when it becomes real, it’s over.
“Well, according to Ray Bradbury, 3 am is when the soul is the most vulnerable.”
Certain memories unhinge a particular power; a vehicle for feeling something in your bones that you previously felt a long time ago.
Growing up, summer meant that school was out, and all I really cared to do was pretend that I was a version of Britney Spears, strolling along Rockaway beach, singing the words to “Sometimes,” while envisioning my life as a pop star.
He is sitting outside the local bagel café, reading the Village Voice, while casually lifting the blonde strands of hair away from his eyes.