she was beautiful, brazilian, homesick and brilliant. we skipped classes, smoked french cigarettes (hers), and drank bottomless cups of coffee at ihop. being half in love with her gave me a tiny glimpse of how big the world might get.
I'm a cook. And I write, sometimes about food, mostly poems. I make stuff. I get lost. I'm worried about vanishing bees, melting icecaps, the decrease of civility in the world, seedless watermelons, and whether there will be enough time for me to get it all right.
1 comment:
lovely. visceral.
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