Chicago is pretty much the best to me. Chicago - the girl from Chicago, plus her mastery over the spot - it's good here. She's a goddess, a queen, the whole thing - the whole perfect sink for all my feelings and so on. But beyond - right, past all the purely magnetic things that go between two people - she's got the qualities that are virtuous just beyond and one of them is her almost faulty generosity. We got pedicures after she got me the fanciest of cowboy boots and then we went to Argentinian steaks and then for a lot of short walks in the cold, cold air.
Today's been a low day of long recovering, we hurt ourselves a little badly, I think, with poor wine or maybe that combined with hard, hard cold. Lazy on the couch and bed. I ran to the store to remedy her barely forgivable lack of asprin - but it's all to the good. Tonight I roll home on a bus and then it's straight to work in the morning. Which makes this all seem like a dream, since I ran here right from work back on thursday.
I couldn't tell you more than this, what I'm telling you, I guess. I've got that thing, where the telling of things has been all wrung out of me, as we lay and talk and wander and talk. It's so cold and we can't go walking - though it's my natural state, my regular way. There's a chill and a hush and grilled cheese griddled to the tune of pet sounds and... Would you think badly of me if I told you I don't want to go?