The Weight of the Crossing

We are always in transit. From one shadow to the next, we carry the burden of our own history, though we leave no footprints on the pavement. There is a particular rhythm to a city street—a silent, collective agreement to move, to pass, to ignore the stranger whose life is as heavy as your own. We walk with our heads down, counting the cracks, avoiding the eyes of those we brush against. It is a strange, temporary intimacy. We share the same air for a heartbeat, then the distance widens again. The street does not care where we are going. It only records the fact that we were there, a brief interruption in the stillness of the stone. We are ghosts in motion, waiting for the light to change, hoping that when we reach the other side, we will be someone else. Or perhaps, just finally, ourselves. What remains when the street is empty again?

Sergio Barrios has captured this quiet transition in his photograph titled Cruzando. It reminds me that every crossing is a small departure. Do you ever wonder where the others are headed?