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I want to take you on a wasted, weekend trip, just so that we can look back and think, oh, that was crazy, and don't imagine for a moment that some husband and wife a generation ago wouldn't have given up the entire crop to get away like this, oh, fairy tale, float among the clean sheets, and skip along the washed sidewalks, and then they would have…

I changed a story today, the last name, mostly, I guess that's why it was so hard on me afterwards, because it was a knock on the door, and you open and it is that visitor, like the two young kids preaching salvation, but this was shame.

But before this, I know I have never held this in my hand; I am too amazed to worry that eyes are on my reaction, I don't care that everyone else has experienced this in the world, because it's mine now. It's me feeling sorry for all of you around me, all of you nodding in smug satisfaction, winking with each other's memories of your first time, but open your hands. They are empty. Look at mine. Your nodding comes to an end because I am smiling so broadly, walking away, snapping my fingers in step…

Sometimes I look around and think I am just as real as everyone around me, standing in front of the bus stop, sleeping on the park bench, tearing through the crosswalk, flying overhead, but there is no real way to know. Please, be invisible, just for today. Please, please. Pleas.

And sometimes I think that this is proof that all of the world is a frame for my own life, and, still smiling, I come home early, and the teeth click lightly, the dogs don't stir, I set my bag down, I remove my shoes, I slip along the floor, I crack the door…

You are on the other side, and you are dancing slowly to music I cannot hear, and it is all I can do to not back away or else disappear into the obscurity of your background, and it is all I can do not to sneak nearby and steal a bit of your fire, but, where would that leave me? And it is all I can do not to be weary with wonder.