I turned 19 in London.
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(recorded 2/3/05 @ 6:53:34 AM)
I woke up, stifff neck, Should I really get up? And then I realized that I was in London. Granted, in a cheap hotel in London, but what can you do? I woke up, 19, in London. Opned the window, let the cold air in, heard this car and that car rushing by four floors below. Good morning.
Black sweater, tight jeans. Happy birthday. Two prints: one Degas, one Turner (and I had just seen that painting the day before!). Danke.
Funny how half of my afternoon was spent, dressed up, dangly earrings pressed against my cheeks--napping. Napping with you. I didn't sleep well the night before and you didn't get much sleep in the first place. So we napped. It was so wonderful to wake up, half-dazed and mildly sleepy, and realize that you slept beside me, steady breathing and closed eyes. I had my arm around your chest, thrown there lazily, but meaningfully. I squeezed you a little and fell back asleep.
4:30pm. Oops. That was quite a long nap. Take the tube, (Black Friars, not Embankment), but the Tate is closed already. Shame. But there's Starbucks. I must have my coffee and it has to be iced (lukewarm coffee is no good...). Confused baristas (you *so* should have ordered something outrageously complicated), a couple of minutes pass and we're sitting on an oak bench, you and me, sipping our coffee.
Rushed for time, we might be late (the reservations are at 7:30). We take the tube down to Notting Hill where we walk a little ways down a dark but charming street. It's the one with the lights, I think. And it is. Most romantic restuarant I've ever been to, we're seated on the second floor, candlelight flickering at the edge of the table. It's amazing to be able to see your eyes again. And you look so handsome, did I mention that? ...You have the most striking smile...We get lost in conversation and I am lost between one set of lips and one pair of soft brown eyes.
Chicken for me, steak for you. White wine, red wine--respectively. Yes, my first experience with alcohol. Ich moechte ein Glas weisswein. Und du moechtest ein Glas rotwein. Not too bad. And you smile at the face I make as I swallow, sour. We spend two hours there, or maybe it is closer to three. But we're talking: about art, about writing, about poetry, about painting, about language, about...about all sorts of things. You're the only person I know who can really hold a good conversation about all of those things. I enjoy talking to you. Can you say that again?
-No, more like "euw"
-no, make your lips a little smaller...euw
Would you like dessert? Oh, we *have* to get dessert. Lavender-scented mousse. How can you see something like that on the dessert menu and NOT get it? So we do. And we order a lemon bar drizzled, or rather, drenched with chocolate sauce.
Finished, full, we wander the streets of Notting Hill. Too bad the cinemas close so early, but that's alright. It's such a beautiful night to be walking with you.
And we end the day with Architectural Digest. But of course.
Thank you for such a wonderful birthday, love. I spent it here with you...in London.
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