Crawford, North of Dundas

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I am told that confidence is required as a condition of employment. The posture is shoulders relaxed, calm mouth, keen stare. Strong legs, steady motion, keep your rhythm in between conversations. You’re going to have to get used to running. You’re going to have to become accustomed to hearing the word ‘no’ The ‘no’ is simply momentum propelling you to your inevitable ‘Yes.’ I want you to champion the word – I want you to hold on to the possibility, even as time & again the door is shut. You’re going to find this a lonely occupation. You could talk to all the people in the world in one day & it would still feel like you’re all alone in the task until there is that ‘Yes.’ And that is the very thing you’re going to fight for every single time you hit the street. And this town. This town. You're going to have to let yourself fall in love with it even though in the end, you know it’s going to hurt you so badly to do so. You’re going to be cursed with the memory of every street, every door. You’re going to have it locked away in your memory all the things we have been & are no longer. & It will drive you mad & you won’t know what you’re to do with the memory except to claw your way right back into it. And even then, it won’t be enough. Not for you. That’s the thing about the old bones of architecture we leave in place like a phantom building of so many ‘once was...’ The once was is the thing that haunts. The once was is what you’ll feel in your fists every time you slam your hand into brick trying to find the once was of the foundation of this town.  Facade, remnant, ghost. You’ll become intimate with the regrets of every corner, the ‘I’m not following you.” The terrifying familiarity. The romance, the unrequited (the dark, the sweet)

 Crawford, north of Dundas, looking south to Trinity Bellwoods.

How many years?

 Seventeen. I counted every day.

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