This is April 2016.

On our way to the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens, we walked through Fulton Park to the Utica A/C stop. It was your first time to NYC. It was my first season of spring.

One week you glow from standing underneath a giant pink cloud; The next the cloud falls and you realize you are now standing within them.

This is my favorite time of year.

The first time I visited New York City, you took me to see The Grand Budapest Hotel. It was March 2014.

I can no longer count how many movies we’ve seen together, but I can remember moments of getting caught in the pouring rain while walking there, sharing plantain chipspopcorntoblerones, me running late to see you patiently waiting, finding the right seats, me having something stuck in my eye and leaving with the pleasant surprise that it’s warmer than you thought it’d be.

Twice. Some times in 2016.

The first was buying three kinds of coconut macaroons with you before we went to Sunshine cinema.

The second when I walked in during a busy lunch period, looked at the smoked salmoncinnamon babkachallah bread  and walked out still hungry.

It’s dusk after Art-A-Whirl 2015. We just finished another beer at Bauhaus brewery. While we walked back to your car we caught the trail of a train and skipped up to the tracks to chase it.

A tangerine train.
An Emerald awning.
Flushed ruby cheeks.
Gold from the streetlamp.
Magenta brush strokes above,
The sapphire sky behind me.