This picture is seven months old.

What I would give to see him again, paddling behind the tricycle I am riding in. The wind blows stronger in those parts and I can still feel it rushing across my face. It is an old friend, reclaiming me, asking why it took me so long to return.

I remember this boy following me, peddaling furiously as if he believed that if he relaxed, even a bit, I and my fancy carriage will be gone. And I don't know what that meant to him but I didn't want to think of that because it meant falling back into the old rhythms of self-absorption. I do not know how he found me or if he sought me out or when he decided to go on this crazy pseudo-voyage. What I know is that it felt like summer and a young boy was following me on a bike.

We stopped at the port's fish market and the smell of fish was so strong, I felt like licking my fingers because it seemed that the smell rested on them, too. I took a few pictures and everyone went all agog. Perhaps it is rare for people to go there on ordinary sunny days to expressly ask them to pose next to their wares. This kind of inactivity was probably unthinkable for them; it somehow did not equate. Before I knew it, many of the fish sellers wanted to have their pictures taken. They never even asked if they could secure copies. They just wanted to be a part of a stranger's day and I was so grateful for having found kindness and openness in a place brimming with life.

Afterwards, I took pictures of old remains of boats that were left on the shore. And that was when I asked him if I could take his picture. He did not know how to reject me. Instead, he put one hand up and covered his face. But you can see that his eyes were smiling and that he was happy.

It is odd to fall in love with people this way. But I do, over and over again. And I never regret this vulnerability, this tenderness that I hope to keep. It's what preserves my sanity, what makes me realize that it's okay to go on living.