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  • Many years ago, in spring, I met a man at this Park. He took me back to his apartment
    at the top of the hill, the view from his place was a panorama of water and sky. Mountains
    and city lights.

    We had sex. Afterwards, I laid on the couch with my my head on his lap, yawning, I thought
    this is what being a cat must feel like, so cozy. Languorous.

    The day was dying, fading into dusk, turning dark blue, like a painting by Yves Klein.

    There was a breeze from the window. The lilting sounds of a piano from the radio. Half-asleep.
    His hand caressing my hair. Softly.

    That same man would later break my heart at this same Park, on a bench, overlooking a view of skyscrapers.

    The weight of trees. The heaviness of my own shadow. I understood then the burden of gravity.

    The pain. It fractured me. That day. It took all my strength to remain sitting on the bench as I heard his footsteps crumbling away.

    I wanted to chase after him, asking him one more time. Why?

    Instead. I sat there on the bench, watching the beautiful vista. Broken.
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