Mr. Gordo was here in Cold City over the weekend. I was going to post a narrative about what we did until I realised that a) we didn't really do anything "special," due to the inclement weather Cold City has been having of late, and b) because of (a), there was really nothing to report, other than restaurants in Cold City do lunch and brunch quite well but for supper stick to the appetizers or eat in. Take it from those who know.
Of course, requisite snuggling, DVD watching, shopping, visiting with friends like Prancilla, and quiet conversations regarding our complicated and interstitial futures did occur. When we lived together, Mr. Gordo and I made quite the passionate pair, arguing about the little quotidian things that drive all couples crazy: laundry, dishes, errands. In fact, we seemed, to our friends at the very least, to argue as much as cloyingly cooing at one another. With two Latino men sharing a household, what does one expect? Now that our time together is compressed and discrete, we no longer can afford that particular insane luxury, which on some level has distilled our relationship like a fine, expensive bourbon: all warmth, no burn.
Amusingly, now when Mr. Gordo and I discuss our once and future potential reunions living in the same city again, be that Madrid, New York, Toronto, Montréal, Buenos Aires or Caracas, we imagine two distinct apartments connected to a singular bedroom, a modern gay version of Diego and Frida.
The rain stopped briefly and the sun came out in honour of our romantic promenade in a local nature reserve, where Mr. Gordo snapped the photo above. Satie fills my head at moments like this, although we were in fact very, very far from the Palais Royale.