You walk the streets, you go into the woods, you get close to the water and you kick the ball about five hundred times just to see if maybe the scenes appear in front of you and instead of just remembering you can live, relive, not by going back but just by staying here and walking and seeing and smelling and talking —to someone or to yourself— all over town. All over the concrete and the grass, all the way up and all the way down. And the scenes —the small photographs in motion— don’t appear and you realize that they’re just empty frames that go on and on and you’re just in one right now; every second that goes by you fill another one that you’ll come back for some day. Continuously, wonderfully, in this place of eternal goodbyes.
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