Whatever this is.

I want to write about it but I don't know where to start. I want to write about it but I cannot see the screen. I want to write about it but my vision is blurry sans contact lenses. I want to write about it but my mind is blurry too.

I want to write about walking through Cusco's Plaza de Armas in awe of what this place has come to mean to me. I want to write about how everything looks exactly the same as when I got here but feels precisely the opposite: Cusco's blue sky, the cafe, the cobblestones, Real McCoy, the cathedral, the fountain, Los Perros. I want to write about how it's all the same but isn't. I want to write about seeing emptiness after having been so full...fulfilled that is...in such a short period of time. I want to write about waking up to his alarm at 5 AM, throwing on my clothes, hugging him goodbye, and seeing him into the darkness. I want to write about waking up again, at 9:15, and straining to hear his airplane taking off over Cusco.


It wasn't only sex. It was holding each other and caring and arguing and talking politics and sharing dreams and telling secrets. I don't know what it was, really, but I know this much is true: it's going to be one hell of a memory...

Whatever happens upon my return to New York and his to Britain, I hope we meet again.

These days, I cannot turn my mind off. When I walk, dance, shop, eat, sing....I think of you, my father.

My thoughts will not go into remission until you do. IF you do.

It's hard to be here and easy to be here at the same time. I think of you more because I'm thousands of miles away and I cannot see you, yet I think of you less. I have so much to think about, so much to take in, my mind is overwhelmed. Flooding with everything...

Even so, I dream of you almost every night. The other night, Dr. House was real and was going to give you curative surgery.

It's getting closer. I wonder how skinny you've gotten. Do you now weigh less than I do?

I wonder if you will make it to my graduation. I wonder if I want you to. At first, all I wanted was for you to fight because I believed you could. Now I wonder if you can...if it's worth it, for you to suffer like this. This disease is horrible. It kills you before you die. The treatment is as bad as the condition. Maybe worse.

The chemo was changed again. It's one of the last ones left to try. You probably have more than 6 months. Then what? This is happening so quickly but also slowly. I can't explain. I can't be articulate...it makes sense in my head but is coming out like vomit on the page. My mind throws up every day.

At least Peru makes me tired and I can always fall asleep here.