I had dinner with Z at an Italian place on 2nd. We walked around and talked about taking chances and pushing boundaries. I photographed street art. We passed a very small cemetery and I saw these little things blinking on and off faintly in the dusk light of the park. I screamed, "are those fireflies?!" I've never seen a firefly in real life. They are magical. They just sit there, blinking on and off. Z assured me that they were fireflies. I yelled, "show me your butts!" at them. If you look to the right of the tree in the park photo below, you can kind of see two of them, their butts sparkling in fading daylight above gravestones.
After dinner, I met up with my very first college roommate. We went to Manhattan once as 18 year olds, stayed in my grandma's apartment. Now T lives in Manhattan, has the job she set out to get when I first met her, is engaged. I think my favorite thing about reconnecting with old friends is witnessing the growth that seems so exponential because I haven't watched the slow changes as they happened. And I like reflecting on myself in the same way. Being with T meant thinking about who I was when she was my roommate, and I get to place that person next to this person I am now. And it makes me feel proud. After the first bar we went to cut us off for no reason, we went elsewhere for last drinks and some pizza. We photographed ourselves in the bathroom mirror. I am so glad to still have an aspect of that part of my life. Sometimes all you need is a reminder.
I wandered the village for awhile before headed back to the subway, back to Brooklyn. Thought about all the places I've lived, where I'd live again, where I wouldn't. This is still my favorite building in the world.
Oh, a few other things: one morning I walked to brunch from T's in Brooklyn and got caught in an epic rainstorm. I spent 20 minutes in the bathroom ringing out my dress. My shoes were so slippery I could only walk a block every couple minutes. I laughed the entire time, sopping wet down to my underwear and the yoga clothes I had inside my closed purse.
The night I returned to Brooklyn for a final time at 1:30 in the morning, I took this photo. Because even though the only person in the world this would mean anything to isn't speaking to me right now, that person exists, that part of my past exists, and this trash heap was just waiting there on the sidewalk, ready to be photographed. Because getting these photos always used to make me feel better. Piles of trash that say, I'm thinking about you, I'm hoping you're happy. Like photos of the moon, but for a different type of person.