We made up. That was the worst fight ev-ER.IMG_3323

I don’t fight with anyone. I leave. My boyfriend refers to me as a “flight risk”. That is a bit of my mantra.

There’s more than one reason that I have two passports.

I’ve been in Brooklyn since Friday. Later on today, when I’m done with work, I’m going to write filthy stories about Cony Island.

I’ll post one¬†tonight.

There’s something about Anthony and I that is utterly divine. We’re never allowed to fight again. We promised.

The clap of our argument was beyond. There were bad things said and I was fed-exing notebooks of words.

And then we spent four days making up. We made up all over the place. My apartment, his place, the back of a yellow cab, Cony Island beach, the boardwalk, various Brooklyn sidewalks…

For me to have gotten as upset as I did, I can only assume he’s forever.

IMG_3346The secrets I have with him are my favorite. I care about him to the extent of intimidation. Chemistry is a drastic understatement.

When the two of us get together, my life starts. I occupy my time in between with Writing and skyscrapers and all of these things I came back to Manhattan for. But when he and I are within a physical proximity of one another, everything changes.

I have to wash my face and go to work. I’m currently in my panties, wearing his shirt, slightly hung over.

No matter. I’ve got this.