I imagine a boy who became a man before he’d realized it.

Can A Place Change Who You Are?

The hardest thing about writing about Madrid is finding my beginning. Because the story of Madrid and the story of who I was before and who I became after it does not fit solely into the stretch of the five autumnal months that I spent living there.

When It’s Time To Leave

I’ve starred constellations of cities on the worldmap beating against my rib cage and still don’t know what accent I will speak my tomorrows in, don’t know whether or not to bend back the arms of this compass or to trust in their magnetism, don’t know with whom or for whom I will do all of this travelling.


Help me to write down the things that move me even if it’s just the first warm Hello of a sort of sucky day. Help me to know that even sort of sucky days end.

Last Night In A Foreign City

Katie forgets her purse and so I pay even though I will never see her again. Do I know this? Even now, do I know this?