New York City boy, I knew you would be reading this. Now I think that at this moment you are taking the metro to Manhattan, and thinking how bloody dirty it is, but doesn't matter, a cab is just a waste of a possible ticket to the MoMA.
Darling, dearest JB, I'd love to erase the four hours of airplane and be there when you stand in front of the Klein's blue and tell you that Pollock said that if you wanted to see a face, you should go look at a face.
You know I forget things easily, right? Well, although I met you in winter, spring reminds me of you. Peut être oui. And there's you at the Planetarium, there's you at Café Klimt, there's you right in front of Trentemoller, there's you pushing your bike and bitching about Tarantino's film, there's you in the dark goodbye kisses, there's you at the photo exhibit, there's you borning in 1969, there's you giving me thoughts I didn't know I had.
Could withdraw today with all of this. Take a bow and thank life for having you, and death for not seeing you yet.
You zen that.
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