Between The Blocks

After having lived in Brooklyn, for so long, every corner holds a different sentiment. Something intangible that maybe only I can feel. The kind of memories we hold within, that hit our core and remind us of all the places we've really been. A tree-lined, memory lane of what you wanted, then. Who you wanted or wanted to be, maybe. It's easy to slip into something worn in, when confronted with a memory you can still feel. Forgiving my mind for it's rosy colored retrospective, is a different conversation that we should have another time - tomorrow? The truth is, some memories, I'd rather not walk around with or run into as I'm casually strolling to brunch. I wouldn't avoid any block - it's tried and true my neighborhood, after all - but some I don't dare stop and take the time to look around. Some blocks are broken, so I wobble through a little and send a text to the next.

Other blocks, tell a story I'd give (almost) anything to relive.

I've been dumped at the park, on a weeknight, by my college boyfriend; the early years. The stoop next door, is where I take secret phone calls that I don't want anyone, not even my roommate, to overhear. The bodega where I keep a spare set of keys or the coffee shop that's seen my morning-after's and knows when I need a donut, on the house. The bench, somewhere along the way, where I met a stranger who changed my life. The street where I rented my very first big-girl, apartment. A shared loft without windows, let alone any privacy. The bar, that belongs to all of us. Where we'll always meet to dance all night, drink too much, and spill the real beans about what happened with the guy, job, diet. She's moved away for almost two years, but whenever I walk past Alex's old apartment, I think about the time, in college, when we sold all of our belongings outside of her ground level studio. If you've ever had the luxury of being neighbors with your best friend, you know the "Girl, you better get here, he just. . . " phone calls are endless and well, thank god for them. Girl Power, am I right? And, some other things that are too soon, too much to share.

Grand street, Graham, Powers, under the BQE where I took these photos; a beehive hair full of my secrets reside there. And those secrets will forever be between me and the streets.