I have not been writing lately or taking pictures or doing much of anything. I have become insular, a hermit of my own home, my descriptive windows shuttered, my ability to reach out and communicate closed. I stay up late waiting for a reason to go to bed yet wake up early, worn out, grasping for a reason to stay asleep. Every day is thinner than the last.
It is not even a question anymore that given the opportunity I would go back in time to lay out a new life for my past self, sit myself down and explain where not to be, who to see, what, instead, I should be finding. Tony and I were discussing this recently, that we would change our history without any hesitation, in particular, the year we were almost neighbors, both wrapped in misery, walking the same streets at night, locked out of the house by abusive relationships, (it’s very likely we brushed against each other as strangers, sat in the same places, rode the same bus, inches away yet years apart from saying hello). How incredible it would be to explain to our past selves, Do not continue with this. Instead, find this other person, tell them I sent you, tell them you’ll care.