A day in Buenos Aires.

Yesterday while on a bike ride, my friend Xime and I stopped at a light.

Sometimes we pull forward and illegally cross intersections, but it was 5 pm and there was much traffic. We decided to behave and hang tight. We stare at each other as we wait and giggle. We giggle lots. We act like school children when we’re together. Always stopping for ice cream and making silly faces in mirrors when we’re lucky enough find one. Always twirling our tongues, rolling our eyes, squeezing our faces to see who can make the silliest face. We feel brilliant.

We’re in the middle of Buenos Aires, between Monserrat and Recoleta. We’re in the middle of our twenties. We’re in the midst of a slump, but that doesn’t matter when we’re together. It doesn’t matter that our hearts ache and our hormones are constantly changing causing perpetual neurosis.

Before leaving my home, we cover ourselves in warm clothing. Helping each other with our coats, tucking each other in tight. Each button softly meeting its owner, methodically. Xime wraps her hair up tight, it sits on the very top of her crown. Her bun creates a halo of sorts marking her presence. Even in winter, she glistens.

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