Poetic

A streak of pink against subway gray—unfocused, but unforgettable. I didn’t follow the figure, only the contrast. And maybe that’s how I remember New York: not by what stood still, but what passed through before I could name it. Some moments blur. Others stay etched.

New York didn’t ask me to belong—just to keep up. I took this photo mid-drift, somewhere between noise and numbness. I didn’t see the figure clearly then. But later, it looked like me. Blurry. Tilted. Not lost—just overwhelmed, and still moving through it.