Sometimes coming home doesn’t feel like coming home because there’s something missing.

I heard “This Must Be the Place”–a very important song in my life and my favorite song about how love is what makes a home–twice on Sunday, my last day in New York. In the early afternoon when I was walking across the Brooklyn Bridge, a man went speeding by on a bicycle, dancing in his seat to the song as it emanated from a little speaker he was wearing. Much later that night, it came on in a bar as my friend Masha and I spoke of love and film and writing until closing time, and then she walked me back to my hotel.