Hi.

It feels like my glass­es are dirty, but it’s real­ly the sur­faces of my eyes.

There’s this inde­scrib­able desire to be amongst oth­ers, after spend­ing time with myself for so long. I’d like to sit in the mid­dle of a café right now, I think to myself, so I could lis­ten the lay­ers of peo­ple talk­ing. I’d like to be slumped down in a soft library chair, decid­ing which book to take home, with the hushed shuf­fling of pages all around me. I’d like to be walk­ing on the streets of New York, dodg­ing the taxis on 42nd and tenth, walk­ing across the streets with the oth­er pedes­tri­ans.

This is one of those nights.