Day 2: He and I stay up all night talking in his room. We part at 6am, and I sleep until midday. I run around in the sun, and I am miserable. I return to him slightly sunburned. We drink a bottle of port as we lay on his bed and talk of important things. Childhood love, wind, music. He hangs a sheet on the wall, and we project upon it an angsty french film, and the night sky, and a clip about parasitology.
Day 3: I am falling apart in an abhorrent way, but this truth remains apparent: new friends are an effective antidote to the green devolution of a fatigued heart.