This was a mistake. I wrote “real” when I meant to write “true.” Someone told me to always own my mistakes. I was upset because one of my first publications had a mistake in it. We were sitting on the floor because he didn’t have furniture in his new apartment. I liked it. Every meal was a picnic. I’m thinking of all the things I know to be both real and true and wondering if there is any difference. I’m trying to be both as real and as true as I can be. When I said I had to leave, his only response was; then you must leave. I won’t always leave, I promise. One day I’ll be standing there and I’ll say come with me and it won’t feel like a choice. Fate isn’t a decision. Maybe we’ll find ourselves driving somewhere random, like to a field in Texas to see a bunch of Cadillacs in the dirt. But for right now, it’s just me out here writing love letters with my life. (at Cadillac Ranch Amarillo, Texas)