11 January 2002

"I love it here so much," he says. "I've never been happier anywhere else in my whole life. I never want to leave."

Always having to be the anthill in the picnic grounds, Helena asks: "...But what will you do if you graduate?" Notice that "IF." I was TRYING to stay optimistic for my friend; funny how I had to insinuate that he might not graduate in order to please him...

He says: "I don't know. I never want to graduate. I just want to stay here forever."

* * * * * * * * * * *

I've been thinking a lot about you lately.

I try not to talk about you all the time. People don't like hearing about other people that they don't know. But it doesn't mean I'm not thinking about you.

I feel kind of guilty for leaving you in New York. I worry about you. I worry that a flock of frat boys is going to spray-paint your house, or kick in your windshield, or try to start shit with you on the street. Oh, I couldn't do anything about it if I was with you, but... why am I here, and you're not? You deserve this sort of safety. You deserve to have people smiling at you every time you walk down the sidewalk. You deserve to be sitting here with me in this nice, mellow patch of diffused sunlight. You should be here to giggle with the boys in my hallway, and agree with the girls that Foucault's "Discipline and Punishment" isn't exactly good bedtime reading. You should be here, you really should. You'd like it.

I write you letters all the time. Sometimes I just write them in my head, sometimes they're on paper. Sometimes I send them, now that I know where the post office drop-slot is... But regardless of whether I send my thoughts to you or not, you're in my thoughts. I hope you understand that I didn't just up and leave you. I left because I was sick of feeling unhappy and unsafe. I was sick of justifying myself. What good would I have been to you, or anyone, if I had stayed and simply stopped smiling altogether?