Thursday, April 22, 2004


I woke up still feeling drunk. I don't know if it was the cuba libres I drank too fast or if I was drunk with possibility. We met last night. Neither one of us could wait till tonight. He looks just like his picture. Hes small, maybe too short? I'll get over it. He's thin. He looks and talks like a writer.
I didn't even put makeup on or change out of my old protest t-shirt and I was ok with that. I did however put a nicer bra on. I didn't feel pressure that usually comes with these first meetings. I felt so at ease, like I could be me.
We drove around to nowhere for a while. Talking, listening to music, singing really loud, taking bad digital pictures and smoking. He has this beautiful way of letting the cigarillo hang from his lips. He commented on hating seeing the sticker of his country next to the sticker of a United States flag. Sigh. He said I was delightful, something the prince of bushwick would say.
We ended up at a bar a block away from where we started, a block away from my house. It was so loud and so not us, the music, crappy mainstream hip hop but we were happy to be together. And we just leaned in closer to talk about writing and politics and the politics of writing and identity politics and identity politics in writing and eventually kiss.
Ay what a wonderful kisser.
We stood outside my apartment building for a while holding each other and kissing the way junior high schoolers do.
We will see each other tonight again since we will both be at school. He said middle eastern food. Who cares.
I'm tired but so happy, excited, glowing in the yummy newness of it all.


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