My dearest,
An epic wind is blowing through Brooklyn today. It's a bit heavy-handed, but the symbolism isn't lost on me. I'm just back from the Swedish consulate, where I finally got my passport stickered in order to make our temporary separation official.
May 2 would have been our 10 year anniversary. By now, my memory of the day we met is all technicolor. I've replayed it in my head many times. I took the red-eye on Tower Air, with two suitcases and the expectation that I would stay for two months. It would be my post-college, big city adventure, and I'd bring back some of that street savvy to easy, breezy San Francisco.
But a funny thing happened at the luggage carousel. I ran into an acquaintance, and we were surprised to discover that we had been on the same flight. I told him this was my first time in New York, I was here for a sublet, and that I didn't know very many people. The acquaintance, a lithe black dancer and a New Yorker himself, smiled knowingly. We exchanged cheek kisses, and as we parted, he said, "Welcome home, baby."
How can I not think of that day again today? When I came here, I had a return ticket for July 2, 1999. I never used it, and Tower Air went out of business. I don't think that will happen to me with Stockholm, because I can't imagine having the kind of relationship with that city that I do with you. Still, my two suitcases are packed, and coffee churns in my empty stomach.
I know all this nostalgia is over-the-top. But think of all that we've been through together over the last ten years -- the public, the private, the major, the minute. Fuck what all the haters say, you are still a place where magic happens. Anyway, that's between us -- other people will either get it or they won't.
So this is just to say Happy Valentine's Day. I'm jumping into this new adventure with both feet, but I sure will miss you. In September, we'll pick up where we've left off. For now, I'll leave you with a favorite poem by one of your famous sons.
With all my heart,
Ganda
MESSAGE
Since we had changed
rogered spun worked
wept and pissed together
I wake up in the morning with a dream in my eyes
but you are gone in NY
remembering me Good
I love you I love you
& your brothers are crazy
I accept their drunk cases
It's too long that I have been alone
it's too long that I've sat up in bed
without anyone to touch on the knee, man
or woman I don't care what anymore, I
want love I was born for I want you with me now
Ocean liners boiling over the Atlantic
Delicate steelwork of unfinished skyscrapers
Back end of the dirigible roaring over Lakehurst
Six women dancing together on a red stage naked
The leaves are green on all the trees in Paris now
I will be home in two months and look you in the eyes
--Allen Ginsberg, 1958
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