I wander into the streets at all hours of the day or night, not knowing what I'm looking for...
walking until I'm lost... finding myself outside the bakery.
Last night I walked all the way from Washington Square to Central Park, and I slept in the park. What the hell am I searching for?"
The more I talked, the more upset she became. "What can I do to help you, Charlie?"
"I don't know. I'm like an animal who's been locked out of his nice, safe cage."
She sat beside me on the couch. "They're pushing you too fast. You're confused.
You want to be an adult, but there's still a little boy inside you. Alone and frightened."
She put my head on her shoulder, trying to comfort me,
and as she stroked my hair I knew that she needed me the way I needed her.
"Charlie," she whispered after a while, "whatever you want... don't be afraid of me..."
I wanted to tell her I was waiting for the panic.
Once—during a bakery delivery—Charlie had nearly fainted when a middle-aged woman, just out of the bath,
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