17 06 2011

I was editing my photos from my trip to NY last year. I found this. I was curious to know if something was lurking in the blacked out part. Actually I knew looking at it who was there. He was. The stranger, the one that made me see the mountain peak. The one who spoke French. Who bought me a coffee. The one whose name I don’t remember. The one I cried to, and shouted at in the marble bathroom. The one that made me bleed. I had a chance to remember his face, to see it again, so I decided to lighten the photograph. 

All that remained was a ghost.

As we parted ways he looked me in the eye and told me I was good.

Disillusioned I caught my train back to my appointment at Columbia.

The View from my Rape