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"I have every right...to be mad at you."
"For being here?"
"For making me thinking you're never gonna come."
It'd never be perfect. This; us. We're gonna keep on being disappointed, hopeful, forgiving, then carry on. Repeat. Maybe for the rest of our lives.
But finally I was standing with my man. That's my man, the play's breakthrough artist. Two plays a day, I could say I knew what it felt like. i guess for that I could give Armie the special pass to be mad and irritated. Whether it's the truth or he's only saying it to get something out of me.
"I love you. I love New York," I wiped Armie's sweaty neck with my thumb. "Forgive me, and I'll be a happy man."
Finally he smirked, and grabbed me while pushing out the door.
"Then happy man comes with me. Come,"
I was bamboozled. The little crowd was ready with their cameras outside the back door. Somehow they knew I was here. Somehow they knew Armie wouldn't come out alone tonight.
I dug down as Armie called out,
"Look, it's Timothee Chalamet!"
Oh he's so gonna pay for that tonight in bed. Or the dining table? Or by the balcony?
That's my man there, laughing enjoying making me all embarrassed. Even Jesus could try to prove me wrong, but I was the happiest man in the world right now. In New York, with my man.
And that's a fact.