To Los Angeles and Back: a letter.

“I swear, if i see you in that yellow raincoat one more time…”
“What? Its my favorite…”
listen to this while you read.

It was a rainy day just like this one, I think. We ducked inside a sushi restaurant next to the Urban Outfitters downtown to escape from the flooding streets. You drank sake for the first time there. I still think about that place whenever I pass that corner. The building is empty now, and I sometimes wish that I took a few more photographs there.

It’s weird that I think more about you now that you are gone than I did when you were here. Maybe it’s because I wonder what (read: who) you’re doing now, and can really only find out through the carefully curated presence you’ve created on Instagram.

The internet age is one of simultaneous proximity and distance; we know both more and less about each other with the passing days. Now that I can only get the highlights, I find myself longing to know the trivial intricacies of your life. Like, did you wake up late this morning? How long was your train commute to work? Has your skin gotten softer?

I’ve known you for what seems like our whole lives. But it was on a rainy day like this; when we drank too much sake at a sushi spot and walked around downtown for hours, that i realized that I’d always loved you.

And I told you.

But you thought I was joking.

Show your support

Clapping shows how much you appreciated A. C. Fontes, Jr.’s story.