I’ve always thought there was a certain amount of good and bad in the world that never changes. Whenever something bad happened to me, I told myself that there must be some good balancing it out someplace else. Whether there’s more good than bad, or the other way around, I could never be sure, and I’m still not. But that’s not the point. We all have to pay a price for being here.
Since we can’t feel things fully as they are happening, all we can do is let time pass and try to retrace them. I guess that is just life – maybe we aren’t suppose to know what it is or why it is while we are in the midst of it.
I started my morning today reading The Waters of our Time, a collaborative book made by Thomas and Giancarlo Roma – a little gem about life, love, memory, and living in Brooklyn (a wonderful flavor of Brooklyn throughout the book).
I’ve never spent too much time with Roma’s work, but the use of both a textual and photographic narratives in this book are delightful and evocative. A redirect for the day, going to back to my project about my life in Denver, and do the best I can I can to coax out some more ideas in the writing.
I just want something to remind me of this place, so that I know that it was real – that it was mine.