i was waiting on the street just outside my new home, bundled up in far too many layers for a winter that can barely be considered cold. it was my first day in the city after moving and everything felt as fresh and new as the crisp morning air that sharply awakened my lungs. i was so excited to fall in love with my life here and it showed all over my face.
in the building next to me was a man tinkering away in his open garage. every inch of the wall and most of the floor was covered with years of visits to the flea market, time spent with a lover, and memories that have slipped through the cracks of his mind. he smiled sweetly and said hello to me, which stirred up a whirlwind of exchanging stories and laughs that lasted for months, warming our cheeks through the winter and softening the corners of our eyes in the summer. we saw each other by chance every few weeks in the same few concrete squares of sidewalk. i loved how familiar his face and voice became.
but the more time passed, the quieter our laughs became. quieter and quieter until all our words became worn into tired how are yous and could be worses.
in september, i saw him moving his belongings onto the sidewalk and placing post its with dollar signs and numbers all over. he was leaving. the city finally became too much, he said. i didn’t know what to say. i quietly flipped through his box of records and thought about how he was the only person who made me want to keep trying to fall in love. i picked out an edith piaf vinyl and said, “i love her so much,” and he said, “i love her too,” and the man in a logo-emblazoned patagonia vest next to us said, “who is she?” our eyes found each other, we smiled knowingly, i reached for my wallet, he waved his hand and told me he wanted me to have it.
this is the photograph i took of him on that day – the last day i saw him – in an unsettlingly empty space that i will never set foot in again.