Darling I saw you on the train tonight. You were looking up at an advertisement on the ceiling the way you used to look at me in the grocery store. You were dressed for work.
You appeared to be the type of person who gets his B.A. in history. British. Your hair was getting long in the back and you would have asked me to cut it outside in your mother's garden. I could remember why I loved you.
I almost held both your hands and told you what a wonderful dada you'll be, but millions of workers in suits and watches stood between us. They were holding onto the silver bars, half asleep and probably pregnant, too.
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You're such a good writer, and this is very striking. But has it occurred to you that almost every single one of your blog posts drips with tragic laments about romance and marriage--imagery of wedding bands and pregnancy? I can remember a time when these anxieties were total strangers to LL.
Keeping in mind the "Bank Romance," post, let me direct you to a conversation that occurred some time in 2002:
Me: Do you ever see someone and get sad because you realize you'll never meet them? I mean, do you ever get upset because of all of the people you'll never even get to meet?
LL: No. Why would I?
i guess this is how we grow up, GG.
Reading this has affirmed all my plans to avoid/deter any kind of romance. Sounds morose, though I'm feeling nothing less than content. So thanks! I don't know how to sign my name, so this is from Erin. "Anonymous" is me too.
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