Last Week.

Remarkably good, considering.

It was Wednesday where I felt the stone and grass. Where I acquired dozens of cookies and brought them outside with my overly-watery iced chai, but it didn’t even matter, and I found friends and we spent time. and there was sun.

And Friday was the end of that show, that space opera. The only show that I really watched, week to week, for years. The show that should have ended on a desolate earth, but sometimes things go on just a bit longer then they should, leaving a stale taste in your mouth, avoidably. Trying too hard, too much, too epic, lavish, magical, perfect.

It was Tuesday and serendipity ran me into you.

Then later he and I traveled into the corners of the College of Fine Arts, into old rooms with high ceilings and internal two-floor stacked office space with hidden staircases free-standing. the paneled walls. the ornate ceiling. the aged colors and wooden benches and style.

Or maybe just in invitations, in admirations, the week passed so smoothly that I am ready for spring to come and never go.