This morning I wake up thinking of Boston. Probably because of the color of the blue sky. Boston has this crystal clear blue blue sky. No clouds. Vast and endless view above your head. Summer or winter this blue sky is specific to Boston.
Suddenly I have a thought. I want to bring you there. I want you to see this blue sky with me.
I think you would love Boston, a city with an incredible intellectual vibe. Around 60 colleges and universities are not nothing. I would love to bring you there, so you could see my tiny flat where I used to live. I would show you everything of my two-years life over there. I want you to feel the loneliness I had always felt when I was there. Two years cut off from the world, because the American education and way of work is indeed all about excellency but is also pityless and close to some kind of slavery sometimes. I had learned a lot but, oh well, I was so lonely over there.
I want to show you my favorite spot for coffee and bagels, my favorite Vietnamese restaurant in Chinatown. I want to show you South Station where I used to take the Chinese bus to go to New York when I could not stand the Bostonian loneliness anymore. Those Chinese buses, you need to experience that. People tell you to never take them if you want to stay alive. I find them great, in three hours you are in New York, for 15 bucks. Yes, of course, they drive like crazy.
I want to see you rowing on the Charles River. This would be a perfect picture. Your blond hair would shine together with the reflections of the water. You would smile because it is the kind of peace you would like to feel, together with me. Then I would show you Harvard not only for the building and its history but for the best burger right in the corner. Burgers with names of stars, the Lady Gaga, the Barack Obama ones. You smile already, see, you would love it. I would show you my favorite bookshop at Harvard Square, I would read some Sylvia Plath’s poems to you in my special Asian accent. “This is winter, this is night, small love. A sort of black horsehair. A rough, dumb country stuff . Steeled with the sheen. Of what green stars can make it to our gate. I hold you in my arm. It is very late. The dull bells tongue the hour. The mirror floats us at one candle power.”
We would walk through Beacon Hill at night. Beautiful and romantic Beacon Hill. Weak and dark light from the old street lamps. Streets with trees and leaves. Perhaps now and then I would be scared of the dark and would rub shyly against you. I would allow you to hold my hand even though I never liked walking hand in hand with someone. For you I would make any kind of exceptions. I would tell you all you want to know about me. Questions I don’t answer here at home, I would answer you there. There would be coffee breaks during which we would read on our own, we would stay quiet and enjoy our silent complicity.
During those few days you would see me through my mind. And my body. At nights I would make love to you. You would discover me, over and over again. We would find a solution to any problem we could have. Which is none. I would kiss you a thousand of times, countless kisses melting with you in the late Bostonian nights.
I would like to share Boston with you.
Now I will call you to tell you that.
And I see the smile in your eyes already.