In the space between the bottom of my bare feet and the ground—that is where you loved me. No matter where you are standing, you’d say. An area of mosquitoes and dirt, but to you as captivating as any. Unfazed by your own strangeness, basking and romantic. At dusk we walked, a ritual among our many. Tirades of reassurance, stopping to debate the strangeness of a stranger’s license plate, the loudest crickets on earth. We lived in a city of warmth, a foreign city at times. How can I explain the way I wanted to be there more than anywhere yet could not stand to be there for a moment longer?