I don't care where you were tonight.
I sat by the park for a while. And this is what I thought. I don't sleep with other women, but I think I behave as though I do. Maybe I invite your suspicion in order to--to come down off some bench, to stop judging others so perfectly. Because I do judge, and harshly, too, when the fact is I'm bewildered. I wonder if I left that letter for you to read about that girl--in order somehow to start being real. I met a girl tonight. Just happened to come by, one of the phone operators in the office. I probably shouldn't tell you this, but I will. Quite stupid, silly kid. Sleeps in the park, her dress ripped. She said some ridiculous things. But one thing struck me: she wasn't defending anything, upholding anything, or accusing--she was just there, like a tree or a cat. And I felt strangely abstract beside her. And I saw that we are killing one another with abstractions. I'm defending Lou because I love him, yet the society transforms that love into a kind of treason, what they call an issue, and I end up suspect and hated. Why can't we speak with the voice that speaks below the "issues"--with our real uncertainty? I came home just now--and I had a tremendous wish to come out--to you. And you to me. It sounds absurd, but this city is full of people rushing to meet one another. This city is full of lovers.