One in the morning and I'm looking at pictures of a man. I met him years ago. I slept next to him last week. Like brothers on a hotel bed.

God, the feel of his body. He's stronger than I am, broader, just barely taller. He sang Moves Like Jagger, which at first seemed questionable and then gradually perfect. We danced. We rode trains.

I watched him make out with another man, which was on one hand kinda hot and on the other depressing.

I won't see him again for at least a year, probably more, and so I'm stuck with just the time we had together, even though it wasn't what it might have been. I'll likely never see what might have been.

I'm friends with a lot of people, but it makes me sad to think he and I are just friends.

Anyway. It's one thirty in the morning. I don't think I'll feel like sleeping ever again. I will still be poor when I leave Japan. He will be with another guy. Maybe I won't be thinking about him still.