There are loves and then there are loves. That's one thing, and not a bad way to begin it. Who am I to complain? There is sunshine and snow and Koko the Gorilla and seafoam green and epistolary novels and dystopian fantasies and organic swiss chard. As if that weren't enough. But it is. At least in the beginning, like in the early stages of a party when you're not sure yet if people will show and if they do show if they will stay and if they will stay if they will drink enough but not too much to be merry. You don't know yet how this will all turn out and if it's even worth it or if maybe your soundtrack is all wrong and you spent too much money on bad wine. And maybe you did. And maybe no one will remember. In that case, it's always best to go with a pseudonym and figure out later if this is all just an embarrassment or something worth something. Even if the wine is bad, someone will drink it. Someone will drink too much of it. Someone won't remember any of this later, even close contact and professions of love or throwing up in the bathroom or god forbid the closet. Because someone will remember that. Find this: Actual Air by David Berman.
