The time we ended our first conversation via telephone, I hid my face in the shallow depth of my pillow. Our one hour chat, interrupted by her friend's unannounced appearance, was a sample or introduction to nights of inexhaustible dialogue. We didn't have cell phones, reciprocal interest and apathy toward inconvenience were the principal agents of cohesion. When I think of my first girlfriend, I think of the subtle ways a person becomes a stranger.
The night we kissed, I learned to speak a new language. When I think of her, I relive 2006: 4th of july, family outings, Los Angeles; though past convocations are occasioned by my aversion to oblivion.
