A couple days ago in Edinburgh we had one of the nicest days and someone in my course was talking about how they’d expected it because there’s always a break in the weather around this time of year. I forgot her reasoning and anything other than just feeling complete disbelief there’d ever be anything other than grey skies here. But I walked around and I took some pictures and then I made them all black and white because I guess that’s how I feel this morning. I’ve had a cup of coffee and I’ve done the dishes and I’m about to get up and get dressed and in the morning everything in the flat looks black and white, muted, indistinct. But not in a bad way. In a way of like—oh, good. I don’t think I could deal with too much color. It’s too early to open my eyes that wide.
Yesterday at the coffee shop the barista remembered my order (soup, soy latte) but not my name and he apologized for it and I said someday he might remember it and he shouldn’t try too hard, it will just happen when it happens. I sat next to a man doing work on his laptop and at one point a woman came in and just stood in front of him for a long time. When I looked up at her, she smiled at me. When he finally noticed her, he stood up and touched her shoulder like he was making sure she was real and I thought—oh, all right. That is how I want someone to touch my shoulder. Like they are checking to see if I’m real. And then hopefully when they figure it out, they will tell me, so I don’t have to wonder anymore.
That is the hardest thing in the world. The hardest thing in the world is figuring out if you are real, yes, and I’ve been concentrated on that since I was eleven years old. Eleven, I dunno. Something happened at eleven and now here I am, seventeen years later, and I still can’t quite figure it out.
photographs taken in Edinburgh with a Canon 60D
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