07/29/2026
One Second
This morning, on my way to the New York County Clerk’s Office to authenticate documents for a client’s apostille, I stopped to photograph another one of those handwritten messages that have been appearing on New York sidewalks for months.
“I fell in love in New York.”
Whoever wrote those words probably believed that moment would last forever. They loved, hoped, dreamed, and imagined a future.
Today, only a few fading lines of chalk remain.
Seconds later, sirens shattered the silence.
A 17-year-old e-bike rider had just been killed nearby court house in Lower Manhattan today.
One second.
That’s all it took.
People stopped. Some took photos. Some recorded videos. Others glanced for a moment and continued to work, meetings, and appointments.
A few minutes later, I did the same.
Clients were waiting. Documents still needed authentication. Life, somehow, keeps moving—even when someone else’s has just stopped.
New York has a strange way of placing love and tragedy on the very same block.
One person leaves behind a declaration of love.
Another leaves behind unfinished dreams.
Thousands of strangers walk between the two without ever knowing either story.
Today, I set out to authenticate documents.
Instead, life authenticated something far more important.
None of us knows whether the coffee we drank this morning, the goodbye we said before leaving home, or the plans we made for tonight will actually happen.
So tell people you love them.
Be kinder.
Forgive sooner.
Slow down once in a while.
Because the distance between “I’ll see you later” and “goodbye forever” can sometimes be just… one second.
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