In 2020 Emerson was a transformed human being. She was finally 36 and finally married and with every time she thought of Greta it hurt less.

One day she got the news that Greta was dying in Brooklyn.

It was a hard decision for her to make but in the end she did not return.

Emerson justified it not by saying it aloud, but by remembering the time Greta met her in a café and ignored her in spite of their history, and by remembering the time Greta said that a part of each of them would always be at that New Year’s party in 2007, and by remembering days that never happened.

Emerson shook her head; Greta didn’t have to die so soon, Greta who was always racing, Greta whose feet never even had the chance to plant. But then again, maybe it was she who was living too long, Emerson who always felt like there was still time, who felt like the perfect thing was perfect only because it was slightly out of reach. Then Emerson had the thought that maybe the years weren’t like they were in her head, and maybe it was she who was left behind.

Images taken between 2011 and 2014, mainly in Brooklyn, New York