Crush

You're in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won't tell you that he loves you, but he loves you. And you feel like you've done something terrible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shoveled yourself a grave in the dirt, and you're tired. You're in a car with a beautiful boy, and you're trying not to tell him that you love him, and you're trying to choke down the feeling, and you're trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you've discovered something you don't even have a name for.
From the archives
·
1963
Marcovaldo
The heavy man pointed the tip of his cane towards the rows of lights that were coming on, down below.
"In the evening," he said, "with this stick I take my walk in the city. I choose a street, a row of lamps, and I follow it, like this... I stop at the windows, I meet people, I say hello to them... When you walk in the city, think of it sometimes: my cane is following you..."

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Marcovaldo

The heavy man pointed the tip of his cane towards the rows of lights that were coming on, down below.
"In the evening," he said, "with this stick I take my walk in the city. I choose a street, a row of lamps, and I follow it, like this... I stop at the windows, I meet people, I say hello to them... When you walk in the city, think of it sometimes: my cane is following you..."

Read more of this excerpt...


