023 - late may
you can correlate my mental state pretty exactly with how many new photos are in my camera roll
i have long fancied myself a photographer, or at least, a person who is into photography. to allow myself to wax romantic a little, i believe quite strongly in the beauty to be found near everywhere in life, if one allows themselves to look. people talk about photography as a tool to capture these moments, but i think that's not quite right - i think photography is a tool to make, or perhaps allow, one to look for these moments.
to this end, i almost never show people my camera roll - the moments in there are far too personal. a part of me says that there is something special in keeping moments like that to myself. plus, to be frank, it's hard for me to summon the vulnerability to share something so personal.
still though, maybe i feel like showing a couple, even though they probably won't mean anything to you.
the screen of an electronic parking meter. it's sunny as hell, and there's some kind of rolling shutter going on, and you can't read the screen at all. but in the darkness on the screen i can see the reflection of your face, of your big smile, of your soft eyes.
a supermarket self-checkout machine with an out of order sign resting on a keyboard resting on its scanner. the screen shows the windows desktop, with a powershell terminal and a desktop background warning employees to not fuck with it. i met you for first time on the tail end of my initial foray into street photography, and i immediately fell in love with how you saw life, the way you seemed like you couldn't stop yourself picking at every loose thread you found in the world.
nothing quite like walking past something cool and realising you're not stopping and suddenly feeling how bad it really is
i've been so tired lately. i haven't sent you that photo yet.
a handful of screenshots from the blogs of various people, each quite dear to me in their own way. lines that resonated with me, or that got me thinking, or that were just particularly pretty and that i wanted to remember. sometimes, i scroll back through and read them, and i feel a little less alone.
an almost-empty suburban carpark stretches out in front of me. the carpark is quite dark, against the pink, almost glowing sky. right now, in this moment, it feels like they both go on forever. i didn't take this one, i had places to be. i miss you.