And you were accepted, of course. You moved from Boston to Paris into a little apartment on the rue du Faubourg-Saint-Denis. I showed you our neighborhood, my bars, my school. I introduced you to my friends, my parents. I listened to your texts, your singing, your hopes, your desires, your music. You listened to mine. My Italian, my German, a bit of Russian. I gave you a walkman. You gave me a pillow. And one day, you kissed me. Time went by, time flew and everything seemed so easy, so simple, so free, so new, so unique. We went to the movies, we went dancing, we went shopping, we laughed, you cried, we swam, we smoked, we shaved, you screamed; sometimes for no reason, or for a reason. Yes, sometimes for a reason. I listened to your singing, to your hopes, your desires, your music. You listened to mine. We were close, so close, ever so close. We went to the movies, we swam, we laughed.
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