I came across a photograph of you today. It wasn't in anything nearly
as romantic as a shoebox or an old diary, no; I was rummaging through
my external hard-drive, took and wrong turn, and found you standing
there, outlined against a blue sky and a grey ocean, apparently caught
in a rare candid moment, with that quizzical look in your eye and your
hand fanned out against your pocket. You are just breaking into a smile
and all the charm of your sunsign--all that almost childish charm that
lets you get away with many, many slips--is all frozen there in that
moment, leaping out, as if competing with the wave caught mid-climb
behind you. I smiled back at you and remembered the day, the time, those
seemingly perfect moments. Though so many things have changed, so much
has gone, water under the bridge and passing clouds bringing rain,
there was still just you there, as you were to me then and as I imagine
you now. And I didn't want to walk into that moment and speak to you,
ask you how you felt at that moment, tell you what followed and how, I
didn't even want to hear your voice. I just wanted to sit down at the
shore, beside you, let the waves continue their journey, taste the salt
on my lips... For a few short seconds, I just wanted to be... in that
moment, with you.
*
I sometimes wonder if it's true that we've lost our appreciation for photos what with the unlimited bombardment of our eyes with images that range from barely recognizable to brilliant, from the truly remarkable to the banal and random. Maybe when there were fewer photographs to be seen and when they had to necessarily have a physical impact, printed and touched in glossies and mattes, we appreciated them more. But that photo of you reminded me that we'll probably never lose our sense of the poetic, the sense of the beauty of anything our senses can perceive. That photos will always freeze those moments and force us to imagine the rest, force us to imagine the rest of the story in 3D, in time, in love, in the gaps our memories have, in nostalgia.
*
I sometimes wonder if it's true that we've lost our appreciation for photos what with the unlimited bombardment of our eyes with images that range from barely recognizable to brilliant, from the truly remarkable to the banal and random. Maybe when there were fewer photographs to be seen and when they had to necessarily have a physical impact, printed and touched in glossies and mattes, we appreciated them more. But that photo of you reminded me that we'll probably never lose our sense of the poetic, the sense of the beauty of anything our senses can perceive. That photos will always freeze those moments and force us to imagine the rest, force us to imagine the rest of the story in 3D, in time, in love, in the gaps our memories have, in nostalgia.
