You took me to an art opening at West Space for our first date. I never knew much about art until then. You had such a warm and self-assured voice as you explained the projection of a tent and a fake sun rising and falling behind it. I regret the silly thing I said back then about how I thought real sunsets and sunrises were prettier than a projected fake. I had missed the point. I had missed the bigger picture about what that projection meant and all the theories it contextualised. You looked so handsome. You were a boy genius and everyone there wanted to sleep with you. You still took me home, though, not any of them who probably could have told you what the projection meant. You fell in love with someone who went to VCA like you did. But I still go to West Space openings hoping to see you.