don't keep your eyes open.

Someone once told me - or was it in a book? or was it in an article? - that place defines our status as human beings relative to other human beings.

Today, I picture a lake. I see it span before me, stretched beyond my peripheral vision. I see reflections of birds (not the birds themselves) and small rippling waves of water graze the rocks of the shore before collapsing backward. I am lost, but not lost. I have found the ability to breathe freely. Today, I picture a crowd of people in a bar. I push past them, and a bouncer chases after me, asking for my ID. I show him and he touches my arm, says sorry in an accent so thick I ignore the words, accept the gesture. I catch up to my friends, who chain smoke cigarettes in the center of a small group. They talk about day trips to other cities, they laugh about bad literature. At work, I stare at a computer screen, I write stories, I take long breaks for coffee with acquaintances and talk about the beach in Los Angeles. I ask questions, beg for answers. It seems the questions just keep piling up. There are so many I do not remember them all.

Have you ever felt a love so strong it crushed you in its absence? Does feeling exist after this crushing lifts from your chest? Will you be there for me to sip coffee on Sunday mornings? Will we talk about the TLS on Wednesday, amicably discuss the merits of this and that? What exists for you outside of this city? Are you not curious about New York, San Francisco, Portland?

Today, I picture a classroom in a country far away. I raise my hand to speak about a painting. I feel his eyes meet mine, a tangible feeling like he is touching my hand, brushing my cheek with the edges of his lips as he turns to whisper something in my ear. It is evening, the stars have come out, I feel warm. It is August, I wear three layers and take the train home to the countryside. As the train rushes through towns unknown, I see one light, two. They blur into each other. I wonder how many lives I will never know exist. I try to count by tens.

Today, I rest easily. In my dreams, I see a boy whose face is oddly familiar. We seem to be in a long-term relationship. I leave him in bed one morning in order to edit a paper to present at the Sorbonne. I choose my words wisely, and everything makes sense. I ignore his calls so that I can write continuously, only stopping every few hours to listen to lectures in French. I haven't slept so well in weeks.