It was late April when I met him. The moon was bright but it was nothing compared to his eyes. He came out of nowhere, in a crowd full of puppets attached to their masters, an actual human being emerged from the fog. His name was Nathaniel but he went by Nat because that's what is mother called him when he was young. He was born in an elevator in Queens but moved around a lot so he decided that he was just a child of the world. He showed me his photo albums. In all the photographs he wore black vans, so I asked him where they were. He told me about a homeless man he met in Los Angeles. That man has black vans now. He kissed me for the first time when he told me that deep down we're all just diffident star gazers, and he liked me for embracing it. He took me to the zoo and I told him my favorite color was the color of some fish. He told me that his favorite color was black because that was the color of the sky when we met. He kissed me for the 27th time when I quoted his favorite movie, and told me he loved me for it.



He changed. His face started sinking. His arms were dotted in needle marks. His pockets became empty, his mind became full. He drove to my house late one night. He told me to come outside. His nose was dripping blood and the front of his car had a dent. He said to me, "darling, I can not drag you down with me. I am a wildfire and you are a flourishing garden, and you are far too botanical for the oncoming blaze." He stared at me waiting for a reply. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me into his car. He asked me if I understand. I told him I didn't. I told him, "You're a burning house I'd love to live in."