Go Here Now

This impulse to take my own pictures is not unrelated to the impulse to write: to insist that things be remembered not just beautifully, but particularly as I saw them and wanted them seen.

After all these years, the little restaurant near the seawall is still bustling, and the noodles are just as chewy. 

The bites, nights, rides, hikes, swims, and views that stayed with us long after our tans faded.

Whenever I have to navigate spaces like airports and restaurants and rest stops, I’m forced to contend with gendered restrooms.