One year ago yesterday, I was supposed to be moving into an apartment in Philly – taking the back roads to transport a mattress on top of my car without attracting attention, a car full of boxes up to my second floor room in a nice little house with a nice little patch of dirt, finally having a place to call my own and struggle with and fix and break and breathe in.

Many of those boxes are still packed, shoved into corners where I don’t have to look at them, still in New York. Stacks of things with destinations that were never realized, and one year of dust later, it’s really rather depressing to think about all of the places that the time went and I didn’t.