I do open myself up. Honest and open I can be. Easily. But usually when no one is around. I am most honest here, in places like this. A paper lantern glows beside my unmade bed and I sit here in an Eames chair, feet in the air, next to the window. Lights twinkle behind me and New Yorker reflects in red neon in the window. Cabernet sits in a glass next to a vintage globe of the world. My lips are slightly stained. The hum of the washing machine is all I hear. I see Bulgaria on the globe and smile. 

No one is looking. Me and my keyboard.

No one was looking today either when my eyes teared up and salt stained my cheeks. Jason had left to go to the gym, Mike had packed up hours before, and Chris just left me alone in their apartment. I was alone.

I pulled out the photo and scanned it. This image, taken in the 80s, had been sitting on my desk at home. I had brought it to work to scan so it would forever be mine. The photo, of my dear Georgi, was taken during his childhood. I do not know his age. I'd guess five or six. And he's in Bulgaria, a land I am soon to visit. A land on the globe on the Noguchi table in my bedroom.

Every time i see that picture I smile. I smile big. And without an audience. Without a reaction waiting. It is always just me, pulling it out, and smiling. I have been doing this for many months, since Georgi showed me this picture someone in Bulgaria had saved from his childhood.

So I scanned it today and backed it up to hard drive. I will still hold on to the photo. I will still pull it out and smile. But now, even if I lose it, or spill wine on it, or spill coffee on it, I can just power up my Macbook and smile. Wherever I am.

His innocence. His perfect beauty. His old soul. His odd style and simple expressions. They're there. They've always been there.

And in that photo I can see in his eyes he was waiting. Waiting for me as I waited for him. As I wait for him now, tonight, sitting in the Eames chair with the red neon New Yorker sign reflected and the globe and the empty glass of wine. 

We were once two children worlds away. And something, someone, conspired to bring us back. Our two halves traveling the world, split in two, searching for reunification.

I cried tears of joy. Of complete happiness. Of pride. And there was no one there to impress. To prove anything to. Raw, pure, prefect love for that little boy. It is always with me.