number one. it is a night like this while thinking of that makes me cry.

it is a night like this while think­ing of that makes me cry.

the weather’s get­ting unbear­ably suf­fo­cate and unex­pect­edly hot (100 f) in boston right now.  it is not that i’m com­plain­ing that boston is no good, though i whine about it quite often and didn’t really make much effort in find­ing some­thing amus­ing here. it’s just, some­thing is miss­ing in the air. and again i was mes­mer­iz­ing and long­ing for the zesty sum­mer time last year. maybe, loca­tion mat­ters. the brief cloudy sky that blocked the rays from the sun made me feel that i’m not in boston any­more while i was walk­ing down the lane with des­ti­na­tion the bus sta­tion. it is eff­ing sad being nos­tal­gic of the past/or a cer­tain place while you know it is impos­si­ble to turn the clock back or be there at present.  despite that fact, think­ing of all these free muse­ums, the v&a, the national gallery, tate, british museum, and all these squares and cir­cles trafal­gar square pic­cadilly cir­cles leices­ter square oxford cir­cles, and all these schools lse cen­tral saint mar­tin royal col­lege of art archi­tec­tural asso­ci­a­tion, and all these pubs pubs pubs every­where in the cor­ner where you can just hop in and get a pint of stella and chat, and all these mar­kets bor­ough mar­ket cam­den mar­ket spitafileds mar­ket por­to­bello mar­ket, and all these not so sunny days and wak­ing up so early going to bed so late days and all these glares at st pan­cras sta­tion that make me feel moti­vated and freshed. f. c. u. k.  yet it is think­ing of some­thing that you want to achieve yet feel­ing so pow­er­less that makes you feel so hopeless.

hang out with your cam­era more. please. please. please. maybe you’ll miss here then and real­iz­ing you only have one roll of film for it.

Tags: london, numbers