Bob Dylan and Suze Rotolo at their Greenwich Village apartment, January 1962
I want to live in a house with plants and place my feet outside on the soil and feel the sunlight coming down on my bare skin. I wish I could capture affection, encase it in a bottle I could briefly open to smell the love and never feel sad again. When I can’t see you, I look at flowers I’d know you’d walk up to and I think about picking them for you. I don’t do it though because I know the bees need to eat, I always see them laying down on the concrete. I crave being unknown, unidentifiable by my family and friends. I want to leave and do things others would never agree with. I recall the past in colors that don’t exist in a regular concentration. Everything looks cloudy and magenta, like burnt film. Lately I’ve been realizing that you’re going to break my heart, and I’ve also realized that it’s true about how little I care that you will. Maybe each time I cry I can paint flowers with my fingerprints, ones which will not die even after their roots are exposed. If there’s a room overlooking a nursing shoreline, I know I could find a view in you.
“I spent a great deal of my life being ignored. I was always very happy that way. Being ignored is a great privilege. That is how I think I learnt to see what others do not see and to react to situations differently. I simply looked at the world, not really prepared for anything.” —Saul Leiter