I don’t want to repeat my innocence. I want the pleasure of losing it again.
When I was 22 this Columbian girl dumped me. She was Colombian, and she went to University of Columbia. And she was beautiful, and she was smart…just as fast as we fell in love, she disappeared. And I knew she has just used me. She was an intellectual and I was a thug. And I just stared at the ceiling all day, remembering the first time we fucked. On my couch. In Sunnyside. After a rainstorm. On a Thursday.
Then one day after being fucked up for months, I realized something. I didn’t know her. She didn’t know me. Just because I tasted her cum and spit or could tell you her middle name or knew what record she liked, that doesn’t mean anything. That’s not a connection. Anyone can have that. Really knowing someone is something else. It’s a completely different thing, and when it happens, you won’t be able to miss it. You’ll be aware and won’t hurt or be afraid.