Once, there lived a young girl in the outskirts of an imagined town in a dreamt world. Her life was all but reality. She laughed by day and read the night away. She was surrounded by a forest infested with faeries that kept her company when she got lonely. Then one night while she was reading a book long forgotten when she realized that her life was perfect. The thought should have been welcome, instead it made her cringe. She didn’t want perfection as a friend, she wanted reality. With that thought in her head, she ran. She ran and ran until she found her life again, her reality. She stepped into the world and was welcomed by a gust of smoke and unfamiliar faces. There were no faeries, no magic, no peace and no quiet. It was all but perfect but these imperfections, they were perfect.
Yes, I love taking pictures, don’t we all? it’s not an obsession.
ok, maybe I get a little obsessive.
The reason why is pretty simple; I don’t ever want to forget. Ever. All these memories stored up inside my head are the most precious things
I own I’ve made and I simply refuse to forget a single detail. Someone’s laughter, the way they’re eyes crinkle when they smile, the way my best friend has that one special smile for the camera, my sister’s smile/frown that makes her look like she’s controlling her laughter, my brother’s obsession with food, the cat’s eyes, the dog’s hyper-ness, the way my dad laughs and my mom smiles while shaking her head, sunset in a place I probably will never get to see again, the trains honking outside… these moments, or rather, fragments of a moment will one day disappear. I’ll never get to hear the train honking outside on a regular basis, never get to see the sunset in the middle of nowhere. Our minds can only store up so much, and so I take pictures. Photographs that mean nothing and everything all together.