march flurry

Dear Lola:
Tonight I was walking down the street, hands in my pockets, fingers numb, when a man rushed out of an apartment (crossing my path) and a woman’s voice was heard from inside saying: “I love you.” No response. I passed the door quickly (it was cold outside) and behind me, the voice again, more melodic this time: “I loooove youuuu.” No response. Just a car starting. I thought: “Dick.” Then, lamenting to myself: "Les choses que l’on fait pour écouter cela. Les choses que l’on fait pour avoir quelqu’un à qui le dire."
Late snow flurries are reminding me of my solitary walk up the bridge the first time I visited the city, two years ago now. Staying out at the last train stop to save money, with no one to have dinner with and only a vague idea that it was time to be okay with that.
Yours,
—F