we call this the fortress of solitude, or the fos for short. we are sweating under a mountain of blankets, and this has somehow become my life, but i am not complaining in the least. i say, you have fingertips that make everything feel beautiful. and we learn from true blood that if you are going to love somebody, you have to love all their parts. even if you catch them smoking out of a bong at two o’clock in the afternoon when you just get out of their shower and use their dandruff shampoo.

i spend friday night hopping from bar to bar to bar on broadway and dance to the black eyed peas with one of my best friends in an old fire hall. we smile and i dissapear. we catch three cabs… and call england…five times. we wake up drunk and get on the highway but this is how it happens. i can’t believe i made my oil change, i can’t believe i have the memory of tying up loose ends and handing over an envelope of buttons, a book and a library card all belonging to somebody that i used to call my best friend, i guess that is ok. when we finally get to moose jaw in a drunken haze i am carrying a pair of black shoes and a laptop, wearing slippers and greasy as hell. he lets me in anyways. tangled up in him, always. i am falling in love with him more each day, and it scares the hell out of me because i am sometimes such an emotional wreck, he always says “just relax. just relax.” and i try, i really do.

i spend saturday evening in a cold garage littered with beer bottles and wrap green tape around a vex and write “big gay cooler” on right the ingredients on the back as “sugar, spice and everything nice” and drew drinks it. me and drew and bromley watch tv and i wear big alpine socks with my pants tucked in and smoke cigarellos. we laugh, and joke around and i am glad that he has a friend that he can be happy around. it makes me feel good that not everybody is a viking.

we criss cross home down alleys to avoid the wind, and curl up in bed. the next morning megan takes us to humptys and we eat a lot of spicy fries dipped in gravy and i fall asleep and miss my bus, i have a sore throat and a heavy heart and i don’t want to leave because i know it will be three weeks til we see each other again. i escape a viking attack and buy a touque and feel fabrics and laugh in superstore with megan and smile. we go to tim horton’s and i order a white milk. “do you always order a white milk?” the answer is no. but secretly sometimes, it is yes. we talk about accidental kisses. gut feelings. blowjobs.

she drops me off at home and i stay up later then i should. sore throat. sore shoulder. coughing. lack of voice. all in the name of vampires and jessica showing her fangs in her parents home. they say no matter who is leaving the distance is always the same, and i keep it in my heart. we wake up later too. it is a sick, sick day and we bundle up and roam empty streets. talk about things that matter, things that dont. sit on the man made bench that i said i would write about later. so here i am. the sun reflecting off various parts of our bodies and it is still beautiful. it is like he caught the sunshine under his skin, and sometimes i am too honest. i eat a hot dog. more vampires. we eat crab apples.

i am on the bus home right now. a bus with wifi? how does this happen. my laptop is going to die and i am too nervous to move to another seat with a plug in. it is packed here and ia m on a road i don’t think i have ever been on before, surrounded by strangers doing cross words and babies talking. i want to sleep. but more than anything, i want to be back in his arms. 3 weeks. the countdown begins.