[travel is relentless. it is ceaseless. and it is heartless. in these past few months of flux and falling, i have begun to think of places as isles, isolated helipads where we either float or descend. and we don’t distinguish anymore between the fluffy and luminous or the melancholic and grey. everything is cloudy now. no one knows the distance between spaces because of malfunctioning apps, new covid restrictions, unexpected deaths, and tail ends to cities we thought we were over and done with. so here again is new york. a past life in encore. a strikethrough heart. where i find myself in a layover that could last forever…if i say so.]