3am Saturday night/early morning. You knocked soft on my window, I guess you figured I would be awake. I have had trouble sleeping recently, and everyone knows that you never rest. I pulled up the blinds, slid open the window pane. There you stood, your face lit up only by the streetlight, partial and secretive with that look on like you’re up to something, arched eyebrows, eyes wide and dark and impatient, like your scheming. I ran around to the door, opened it and led you with my hand past the fluorescent lights in the hallways that stay on through the night.
...
In the name of beauty and truth and damning the man you’d say. Romance and radicalism never tasted sweeter together. I guess the most troubling part is that somewhere in my mind I already had a bag packed, willing to follow you anywhere you wanted to take me.
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