everyday I wake up

She loved waiting for his letters to arrive; sometimes it was just a postcard, a corner wrinkled, but all of them she kept in the drawer that locked. Not because there were any great secrets to be stowed away, or that she didn't want any one else's eyes on them; she just enjoyed taking out the old brass key to unlock and lock the drawer--the little clicks and turns were the most satisfying sounds in the world to her.

He wrote to her about sunsets spent with mosquitoes, half-meals stolen from distracted men out with their mistresses, and how much he missed her... So much of her life she spent waiting for him, and he missing her, that when they finally met again, they felt like complete strangers falling in love.

[Taken outside a Marriott in North Carolina.]

the story of Henry.

He always ate lunch alone, not because he was ostracized (those poor pigeons--), but because he knew his mind would proffer him much better company than anybird ever could; indeed, Henry possessed a profound intelligence that had such a presence as to feel like a soul all its own. As he grew older, he found he liked to sit outside the New York Public Library and simply observe. This gave him much joy--to watch the humans, and also to be so close to all the knowledge the world contained. The sad thing would be to mistake Henry as lonely, because he had never been;

although


occasionally


he broke out in awkward spasms.


We're not all perfect.

the grand ideal

Taken in the New York Public Library: The top two and last photographs are un-retouched to retain the dramatic mood. Such a beautiful place for studying, although impractical in its imposing, spacious elegance. I suppose that the high ceilings catch all the whispered awe, echo the frantic scribbling of notes, contain the frustration of students--all the while tiredly maintaining its posture.