How We End. at PHOTOFAIRS I San Francisco 2017
You tell the story, knowing it will never be quite right because you’re not remembering it how it was and maybe it was an apple, not an orange, that he brought you at the station when he picked you up, and maybe if you’d allowed yourself to eat the fruit he handed you, to laugh at his jokes, to let him keep the radio on, then maybe it would have been different, and maybe you did care more than you let yourself think, but it’s hard to know now, because you’ve committed to one version – your version – so you stick with it and say, yes, it was fine and no, it didn’t last, and I barely think of him now, almost never, not at all.
