I became a different woman when I sat across from Kvn over Thai food in San Francisco. I became entirely unfamiliar to the memory of who I have always wanted to be. 

Food Network silently served a quick and comforting distraction to my eyes when staring in the face of this stranger became too much for seconds at a time to endure. 

It was a perfectly empty and intimate “cottage” – haphazaardly chosen in a caffeinated and frenzied attempt to be a good hostess in my citified stomping grounds.

I’m recovering still. 

Still unsure what to make of the words that came out of my mouth that day. And the way he seemed in part to hear them while yet unspoken. Words about Art, mainly. And my need to control. 

He smiled at the shrimp I dissected into more manageable pieces. My mind was everywhere all at once… me being late three hours ago and unintentionally making him wait… what we should do next in the cold approaching earth-level clouds full of mist…

But also,

just there. 

In the grains of pineapple fried rice. Half-eavesdropping on the neighboring table’s conversation. Hyper-aware of our own. Hyper-aware of us together eating Thai in San Francisco. Him with his fitted, quilted, clean navy jacket and Master’s Degree in Fine Art… me in my longsleeve, Frat-style Santa Cruz shirt. Chosing, of course, today of all days to losen the adhesive of block, screen-printed letters from shoulder to shoulder. Finally – after so many wears – coming undone, like me. 

. . . & & 


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