The Supermodel came tonight, and we talked about you. It's odd. Objectively, she's perfect- she's clever and fun, and very beautiful- yet I don't feel anything for her. I admire her, and, despite all odds (my jealousy over her astronomic IQ and general aptitude for life), she's become a great friend.

We spoke about the places that felt most like home, and she said she hadn't found one. I said that I hadn't really, either, but it's not true. Home is people, we decided. I spoke about you. I said you were funny and Christian and a mathematician. We don't talk about big subjects, you and I- we don't talk about religion, or marriage, thus there's no way for me to discuss the possibility of us. I tried to remember what we spoke about, but I can't.

I just remember
Laughing
Worrying that it wouldn't be the same
But it is.
The same
Twice
<0 .01p="" nbsp="" p="">Whatever that means, I've heard it's good news.

You can answer any numerical quibble
So I ask
To hear your response
Affirmative
I couldn't bear a no.
No.
No.

I can't remember you
Quantatively
But I remember how it felt
To be with you
Free as air
As if I'd taken something
Lifting off the ground
Wanting so badly to anchor myself
By holding your hand.
A funambulist
Between daring and not
As our skipping steps
Matched my heartbeat
Yet I breathed
Calm and deep
Aerial.