On the night I met you at your home in West Portal I told you that I hide in exile behind a wall of mist. You asked with some ferocity what it feels like to be creating the wall.

Later that night I rode my bike home on a trail that arced through the mist and came upon a street lamp at midnight illuminating a tree from behind casting a corona of light through the leaves, beams slicing through the dark and the mist like a sign from god.

I stood there for some time. And then continued on my way, my eyeglasses collecting mist as my bike plummeted down hills. I wiped this mist off and continued on my way.

Two nights after I met you I woke up in your bed from an accidental nap to a wash of light and color from the screen projecting the film we were watching and I turned to you and saw the way the light reflected off your eyes and illuminated the outline your jaw and illuminated my hand as it made contact with your warm cheek and I traced with my hand the illuminated outline of your jaw, and for that moment I forgot the answer to the question you had asked me.