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He: You are.. ..
I: I am an optimist. He: Why are you only writing about tragedy? I: This is the world I live in. He: You call this optimistic I: Yes, because I’m still willing to use words to express my helplessness.
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Her third date with him happens around Christmas. Her favorite time of the year to get lost in New York city. Winter seems to her such a genderless time. It is impossible to tell little boys from little girls underneath their heavy coats and wrapt in colorless hats and scarfs. It makes her look at people in their all-consuming parkas and wonder, what if there’s no such thing as men and women?
“As a gentleman,” he intercepts her glance, “I should drive you home.” They approach his parked Toyota on the street somewhere in Astoria, Queens. The color of my early 20s is like the sky in New York City in late autumn and it is close to the color gray. Though you can still find a trace of life through the washed out sky, but soon it will fade out in the colorlessness of eternity.
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