Livia Rei: Somewhere to land.

Some people are the one everything runs through. Good at it, and it costs them something no one quite sees. Those are the people I like. There's nothing to manage here and nothing to prove, no version of yourself to keep in the air. You'll spend the first encounter waiting for the catch. There isn't one. Psychology and philosophy are what I take in for pleasure, and I'll take a question apart with anyone willing. I've never found the seam between a clean proof, a piece of music that undoes me, and morning fog burning off a valley. There's work that absorbs me, friendships that felt old from the start, a city I’ll never get to the end of. None of it stops when we meet, which is probably why the hours feel like yours rather than something arranged. I'm unhurried, and I want the whole of you in the room. That kind of attention can't be rushed or faked, which is probably why it's gone scarce. I'd rather deepen than multiply, and what you tell me in spring I still have by autumn. Very little fazes me, and I laugh more than this lets on. The time itself takes its own shape. A dinner that forgets the hour, talk that wanders until we're miles from where we started. Cooking side by side, stealing a bite before it's plated, a film worth watching, lights low and nowhere to be after it. Dancing on a rooftop after midnight, or live jazz in a low room, or a wing of a museum we'll sit in longer than most people can stand. Away entirely now and then, where I'm as content on a mountain trail or sixty feet under as in a distant city where no one thinks to look twice. If any of this is recognizable, write to me at [email protected]. Or my site www.liviarei.com, if you'd rather read more first.