Some places stay with you.
I took this after I’d come home—just a weathered panel, stained and peeling. But when I looked closer, I saw it: a skyline. Or the memory of one.
It looked like New York. Not clearly, just enough to stop me.
I lived there once. And I guess part of me still does.
I didn’t frame it. Didn’t plan it. Just recognized something that didn’t ask to be remembered, but was.
Funny how memory finds shape in things that don’t mean to hold it.
