I went on a date today with a man eight years older than I am. We went to the zoo and saw a movie. He’s pretty cool, he works in IT, he likes Blonde Redhead (what is it with french men and Blonde Redhead?), and wears his hair in a ponytail. He is tall so I had to crane my neck every time I want to say something to him. I didn’t want to . I want to tell these things to you. I want to know what you’re doing for Halloween’s. I want you to know that I’m going to Germany with my class for the Toussaints and I want to know whether you have plans or not. When we saw the orangutans, I want to laugh and point at them with you. When we cross the red lights I want to be holding your hands. At the movies, I want to bury my face on your shoulder when some of the graphic scenes appear. And afterwards I want to eat Chinese or Japanese or Mexican with you, and if you miss your train I want to show you my new apartment with its tiny single bed. And even though there isn’t a lot of space I don’t mind sharing my quilt with you. I want to wake up the next morning trying to get out of bed only to have you pull my arms back around your shoulders as if you don’t want to let me go.