Found myself crying over Brooklyn’s google map after a break up with a man I have never met over the city I have never been.

During the moments of rage and desperation, I deleted all the photos we sent to each other; photos that supposed to say what we are doing and where are we; our mental and physical surroundings; our self-portraits.

It took me a while to look back and ask these questions:

Why was I so passionately in love? Or how is it possible to love what you have never seen?

What were the most important images? 

What is recollection, how one could recall the destructed images, to rewrite a history [of a relationship]?