The wilting leaves left on the flooring, the yellow all in piles scattered about, and my, my— those people I was with couldn’t manage all the walking. How are you then surviving in this country?
Lovers shaped the leaves into that of hearts. One couple. And another. And another. With the heart-shaped piles at their feet, they take a picture. Positioned in front of cameras like they’re in mid-motion. Behind a photograph is all falsities, but what isn’t? Photographs are a falsity to preserve memories. Something about photos, records, these things and looking back on it, it’s nice to confirm all’s in place right where I had left it.