Niko + Changchang

In Prague, you used to sigh in your sleep and sometimes, it made me cry because it was so unjustly beautiful (your happiness, your ability to dream in the language of romance e-manga, the fact that you smiled even in your goddamn sleep, the innocence in your sigh, your ability to let go of everything, the cadence of your voice, your hair sprayed over your cheekbones).  That one night when you asked me what was wrong, I lied and told you I was stressed out, but actually I’d been watching you sleep.  This was before we kissed, before your dumbass chewtoy broke your heart, before Nutella joined the kami of the apple grove, before everything fell apart.  If I’d known, if I’d known anything about grief and heartache (and by that I mean, if I’d ever known how to survive it and not just dish it out), I would saved our relationship.  I fucked up, Changchang.  See, I thought we’d have so much more time together.  I thought we’d have time to figure out shit out.  And now, in this majestic and dirty and snotty and run-down and magically-real and fake Hausmanian city of tango and asado and smartboard futból and all this other crap people talk about when they talk about Buenos Aires (NONE of which I fucking CARE ABOUT AT ALL), all I can think of now, all I can see is how little time we’ve got together, how little time we’ve always had together, and how unjust the universe is (has always been) to bring us together at the brink of our undoing.