yesterday, bright as ever and beautifully entwined in spirit, with an open mind, a feeling of free. I remember the conversation we had when she returned from abroad. Argentina. Us, sitting in Washington Square Park. Me, defenses up; her, not so very like herself. It always felt unfinished. Never understanding the loss. In silence, there is no closure.

And so now, after having met again — Ost Cafe on Grand Street. A strange part of the city, where I had never been. On the streets elderly asian couples licking ice cream, holding hands, speaking softly in Chinese or not at all. Backs hunched like that guy from Notre Dame. Old men reading newspapers, and women wheeling metal carts that look like cages for sad animals. Cages for groceries, laundry, and filth. And the cafe? hip. so surprising, so out of place. And two girls inside it (her + me) work to remember, in consideration of new perspectives. (Everyone can hear us, do they listen? Are we even listening to each other? I am listening to the voice inside my head. I hear loudly my emotions.) We explore the past, finding ways to make sense of the what and the how, feeling happy in each other's happiness. Me, comforted by the fact that the damage was not deep from my ways of self-destruction. Lack of self-care. Lack of self — I feel lighter.