I cannot be alone in my tendency to go visit things (meaning: objects) that I love and have some connection to. I visit favorite trees. I visit statues (calling Alexander Hamilton). I visit rocks in the ocean. I have my pilgrimages that make up my solitude. “Let’s go visit that one tree I love, see how it’s doing, what stage it is in right now.”
I also visit graffitti that I love. Now graffitti is less eternal than the other things and you cannot depend on it staying there, at least not in the original form. You can’t get too attached. That’s the beauty of it.
Under the highway sort of near my house, there is a piece of graffitti that I love. I would have to walk by it every day, and I always looked at it, as I passed. I don’t know why. It was like checking on it. “How you doing? Still there? Okay, good. Hope you’re well.”
In the last year, my routine has shifted, and I no longer was walking under the highway every day. So I lost touch with my dear graffitti. It’s not on Facebook, either, so I can’t IM with it in the middle of the night when I’m lonely, like I can do with all my other insomniac friends and family members. But I never forgot about its existence. How could I? When I love once, I love forever.
Last weekend, I took a long glittering freezing walk, and my route took me under the highway. As I approached where I knew it would be, I felt a small flutter of anticipation. I was excited to see my graffitti again.
And, true to its form, it has changed.
But I somehow enjoy the change, too. It’s not what it once was, but then again … which of us are?
June, 2007
January, 2009
My favorite graffiti is luckily built in to my morning commute, on an overpass I go under every day: http://www.flickr.com/photos/confessionalpoet/2791139161/
The pencil’s been “erased”!
I love how the person who changed the graffitti didn’t just spray over it, or scratch out the original drawing. They carefully colored it in, staying between the lines. All while standing under the highway. I find that charming!