“A SUPREME Kind of Love”

I knew he was the one when our hands touched as we reached for the same navy fleece hoodie with the letters “S-U-P-R-E-M-E” sewed on to it. I knew he was the one when our eyes met, silently arguing who would get it. We both held onto it until an employee came up to us and asked if we’d like another one from the back. So we laughed and paid and that was the end of it.

And when the next collection launched, we once again found ourselves reaching for the same buttoned-down shirt, with the marvelous little letters embroidered on, blushing awkwardly. He remarked that I had good taste, I said he did too.

But it was only fate when on a cold day, I was standing on Lafayette Street looking through my Supreme backpack for a light, that he appeared with his engraved Supreme Zippo lighter. We’ve been together ever since, wearing and loving our Supreme–our hoodies, boxers, backpacks, beanies, bricks…what can I say, our love is Supreme.

 

“Subway Dreamz” 

I don’t know what I fell in love with first–the two-day old scruff, the yoga mat that hung on a faux-leather strap from his shoulder, or the Whole Foods bag he was carrying with cilantro sticking out from the corner. I’d looked up from the snazzy book I’d picked up in the stands in front of Strand because it was all cute and worn-out but I really had no idea what the hell it was talking about, and there he stood in front of me. And I swear, my mouth opened. It opened. In all my years of taking the B train and the Q train, of all my years waiting for a dashing lad to come in, and always, stop after stop, being let down, the day had finally come. So I sat up, looked around, as if I was completely unaffected, with a smug look on my face, and I thought well, I have to look like I’m intently reading…maybe I should take a pen out and annotate, pretend I’m an English major or something. I went through my bag but I couldn’t find one. I had to do something completely cool and intellectual. I crossed my legs. Cool. French, right? I stared intently into the book, still didn’t understand a damn thing. How could I? The love of my life, the man I’d been waiting for to sweep me out of this desolate hole was standing in front of me, so how could I focus on some nonsensical, introspective poetry? I’m sure he was looking at me, I’m positive. I felt his glance on me. Burning. Passion. I mean he was the guy I’d been waiting for. He had to look at me, he knew we were connected by some powerful force. We were headed towards West 4th so I knew he was bound to get off soon, so I had to make a move. Quick. I saw him picking his bag up. We were here. The doors opened, he walked out, so I sprinted out and yelled, “Hey you dropped your metrocard!” And he swerved around, yoga mat and all, grabbed my hand, and said, “let’s get out of here.” So we ran hand in hand through West Village. We pranced through the streets. He put cilantro in my hair. And then he brought me up to his apartment that looked like a greenhouse. He had a vintage typewriter, and record-player, and so many old books amongst the jungle of plants. So many plants. He gave me some home-brewed beer, and there was a leak from the wall and the water was dripping into a pan, but the aesthetic was just there and I knew the moment was coming where he’d throw me down on the mattress on the floor which I hope didn’t have bed bugs crawling out of it and we’d make love, but then I heard a sneeze, and I jerked my head up and fuck, I’d fallen asleep on the old fat Russian guy again. Yep, I’m still on the B train, sitting with my old Russian guy. I almost drooled on his fur collar.

 

“When He Slid Into My DMs I Fell In Love” 

Look, I know you’re going to judge me for this. I know you’re going to tell me to wake up. But, it’s a new world out there. It’s a brave new world, and I’m ready to live in it. So here is the story of how I met my love, not tangibly but mentally and spiritually. He’s a traveler. Personal stylist, blogger, model…he’s got a lot going for him, and he has to travel to keep up with it. Anyway, on a fateful monday night, at 11:47, I received a request in my Instagram DMs, and just like that, he slid into my life. Simplicity, simplicity is key and with a simple, “hey,” he stole my heart. I scrolled through his Instagram, and boy, what a man. His mirror selfies, his snapbacks, he’s serious gaze, his pictures of breakfast, his selfies with his mom…everything culminated into my dream guy. And I thought, he’d made the move, he’d said “hey” so I’ll take a chance, and I’ll say “hi” back. And so, our love affair began. Everyday we’d talk about something, something we had in common. Who knew two souls so far from each other would have so much alike. He said he loved Gilmore Girls as much as I did, he said that he loved F.Scott Fitzgerald, especially the book with Leonardo Dicaprio in it. We figured out we both love wine and A$AP Rocky. Whenever he’d hit me up, we clicked. I felt it. The texts were genuine, not forced. We’d play these games with each other, too, where on some days he’d like one of my old pics from three weeks ago, and I’d go and like one of his, it was cute, you know? And when we’d DM, I always felt like we’re the same person, just separated by a screen. I don’t know when I’m going to meet him because of his busy schedule, but I know that the connection we have is unbreakable, not even my wifi can break it. What we have is spiritual. We’re real. And no one can tell me otherwise.