you can take a picture of this

Fall has come to Mo-town with a vengeance. The beautiful days are already forgotten as the chilly winds set in and the rain continues to fall. Ha. Fall.

I am feeling nostalgic. Back in Montreal, I am going through the boxes that I packed so hastily 3 months prior. I am reading the old journal, I am sorting through the old pictures. The journal is scary, as it dates back to December of 2001. Scary because it seems like not that much has changed. Sure, I am older, hopefully wiser; I live in a different city. But the ideas are still the same and horror of horrors, the writing reads the same. What am I going to do with my life? Complaints about the boyfriend du jour followed by declarations of devotion to the boyfriend du jour.
The old photographs make me feel content. Especially the ones of me with my ex. Although we have drifted apart and although I may have certain opinions about some of the choices he has made since I let him go (ha!) I can look back on that relationship fondly. Finally. For a long time it just made me feel bad, like I had wasted the better part of three years on a meaningless exchange of half-felt emotions. But no more! What we had was special. It was good (at times). We lived together, we actually did love each other. We travelled together, which means a lot to me. We were so young and excited and curious and easily impressed, nervously exploring the terifying streets of Brussels, and the much more beautiful ones of Paris. Isn't it ironic that it took me two years past the end of the relationship to realize that it was a good thing. I certainly did not recognize this fact at the time. Still, I am glad he is gone. Best of luck to him and his new wife.

The subjects of my photographs have not varied so much over the years. Sure we've mixed up the supporting cast, but the heart and soul of the group has remained. My group of friends, the real friends, the four of us, are chronicled in our photo albums. Of course, we have sometimes drifted, a face may not be seen for months, or even years at a time, but we are all there.

For the record, this nostalgia is not a longing for the past. Quite the opposite. It is a happy acknowledgment of the past and a very hopeful glimpse of the future. That's all now. I can't write anymore.