fromthemouthofmoi

I made my trip to Europe and what a trip it has been. It has not been what I expected. It has been more. I ask myself, self: what might you be thinking? And myself replies: too many things. I began in Dusseldorf. I saw old friends, Bernd and Sigy. Gray now and looking like strange children with youthful smiles under weathered faces. I love them now more than I did then when first we met.  They walk at a brisk pace. So brisk I can't keep up. I lumber with the gait of those living in tropical climates. They walk hurriedly desperate to outpace the cold. All those years ago in New York City's Lower East Side. I pushed Bernd, fully clothes, into a public pool. Sigy flirting with me and me too scared to let go of my sexuality. Now we are older and everything is let to pass in favour of the friendship that sustains years. The art of friendship. The friendship of art. The sudden reappearance of longevity that holds nothing and everything. This longevity allows instant simpatico. It...