Never Been To Spain

I am weary of being the only one who knows where to go and how to get there. Will you be my person with a memory of places worth revisiting, curious about what might be around a corner, the other human of a pair who can book tickets, find a great restaurant, read a map? Let's go downtown, dressed up, and stride like know-it-all Wall Streeters in the chilly stone canyons, have lunch at Locanda Verde and pretend we're Italian, share a daytime dessert and a spoon. Then you can lead me down the subway stairs and make sure we get on the right train. On the rumbling tracks to Brooklyn, we can stand in the aisle, rocking against each other from hip to breast, insulated by clothes, by coats, so our skins don't spontaneously combust. You will find us blocks to walk on, coffees to sip, bare trees to see, their branches, protecting spring's green buds, stabbing the February sky. Take my gloved hand. Be my leader, for a day or a weekend or even just long enough for me to write this paragraph. Be alive only in my storytelling imagination. Let me drift in what it was like when we were young and I was hopeful and willing, when someone who wasn't me made things happen. Take me there.