I saw the Formation tour at the Superdome, woke up the next morning and wrote this:
She is still unseen. Images of her flash on the Monolith so briefly that I can’t get a sense of what I am seeing. Hyped like a movie monster. Finally, the back of her head fills the 60-foot screen, and she turns. I see her face, her presumably naked body behind a chair. Here she is, giving herself to us. Where is she?
Read the whole thing on Medium. It’ll take 5 minute, they say.
We weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend. We didn’t even really date. To be cheeky, after our disaster, I used to call him my “ex-nothing.”
First I saw him around, and then we drank and slept together, and then we talked and went out to dinner, then we slept together, and then one night he slept in my bed but wouldn’t touch me, then I wrote him a long letter, then we didn’t talk, then we talked and slept together, then we didn’t talk, then we talked and kissed, then we didn’t talk. The time, adult-years of it, melts into one long string of silences and noise. I was a mess and utterly invested in him from the get-go. I would have called it love at first sight, if it had worked out at all.
A new essay of mine went live on Medium this morning. Check it out.