When I have a spare moment, I close my eyes and trace the bicycle route from my apartment to campus. Coming back to this last photograph scares me because my mental pictures will resemble this one day and clamour for clarity. I want to finish unpacking, to do research for my formless thesis, to keep writing but my heart’s not here. It’s flying solo on the plane to Boston, being kissed by the breeze on Drew Avenue, beating furiously in the Gershwin Theater.
retrospectif: a notebook 