I bet you could feel it from all the way up north, my mental packing and travel toward you. We could keep a Williamsburg apartment, cluttered with old things and books, listen to records and only cook brunch. Every other meal: out. We can hold hands occasionally, and at arms' length we'll spill out our best haikus (all of them). We could stay beautiful. Well dressed in every sense; better that way, and we could be happy by ourselves forever.