"you paika and i tired"

I think my favourite memory of us yesterday was at the old parliment house. The one the folded paper magazine said was the old supreme court. Maybe they are the same thing. although, I think two grand sounding words should be used for two different places, to spread the love of antiquatity. Hopefully each befitting the. distinguish.n.ity. In any case, it felt like home sitting on the wooden platform, that somehow although so battered and worn, fit right into the gray stones of the high walls, humility and grave dignity, and we lit up in the glow of side wall spot lights and only the gentle whirrling of the standing fan. You remarked at the entrance that it was warm, but now sitting back here with the moonsoon rain falling outside it seems we were cool enough. I felt like part of the installation and I think my handbag did too, sitting pretty at a corner, coming out of hiding from your-bag-that-became-mine after you took it in and all my contents spilled over into yours and chatted chummily. I was writing inside the platform's big brown book, and you were standing in front of me reading upside down words. And I continued writing after talking with the artist man while you carried on the conversation with him. I know you still find art boring. :) But somehow that has never mattered. And later on you sat beside me and I drew your hand onto the page.

Even though the social knitting event did not occur, and I messed up the dates of unfolding florence, you were there with me and you know, I still look at the word 'there' like it's a fraud of posuerism. You, visibly relieved at the end of the visits, thank you for being so game, and it's your turn from now now. Here's to our getaways. aye.