Concern is a type of love, he tells me. There is the image of me in the street waging war on a world that refuses to treat us well. I yell and put my hands up. I am conflicted by the beauty of snow falling gently on the skyline of a city I love and the rage of knowing it often does not love me or any of us back. I am amazed by my willingness to make irreversible decisions. He sends me a message begging me to be careful and I realize that I am not willing to be careful. I am not thinking about a world without me in it. Concern is a type of love. Please be safe, he says. Please please please stay safe.

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