Saturday, December 5, 2009
Don't go to Argentina
She tore a page from her little notebook and wrote "Please don't go to Argentina" on it. That was how her last lover had left. She folded the paper in half and slid it across the table to him. Without asking what it meant, or pressing her for context, he took her pen and wrote "No me gusta", and slid it back to her. They ate the rest of their meal without saying a word. This is love.