Reverie
He knows they don't really talk much and that he doesn't see her often but he believes wholeheartedly that they should totally head over to the library sometime and study. (Or at least try to) To be honest, he'll probably spend more time appreciating her presence than actually studying but that's okay - he rarely sees her.
He is definitely making more than there is but he needs a reason to write and tonight in this cramped Simon Fraser University study room, she is the painting that only he can see over the heads of his friends, on the red walls.
He writes from memory.
The noise of conversations and yelling fills the space of the auditorium, he is barely able to make out what his friend is telling him and he stands right beside.
Unfamiliar faces crowd his vision and the noise is deafening now but he is content because it is a far cry from the solitary confinement that is his bedroom.
He and his friends are seated in a circle and he attempts to find some stability in this environment of chaos; yet he is still unable to hear what the people around him are trying to say.
Kids yelling and running around as if the world was ending tomorrow.
Desperation on the surface but underneath it all, courage.
Unafraid of the day that is to come, and content with the days that have already passed.
He observes that they are simply living in the present frame and not a shot too early or too late; the perfect picture not because of its composition but rather its purpose. The story behind the photograph, the development, and preservation of a precious memory in such a fleeting moment.
Bodies flash by and voices are blended into the soundscape of a scene that seems to stop time.
He is there in the midst of it all.
Somewhere hidden in the background, past the grains and leaks of light, a figure is standing.
The clock starts ticking and a photograph begins moving.
The room darkens, the audience quiets down - a film in motion.
totus tuus
He is definitely making more than there is but he needs a reason to write and tonight in this cramped Simon Fraser University study room, she is the painting that only he can see over the heads of his friends, on the red walls.
He writes from memory.
The noise of conversations and yelling fills the space of the auditorium, he is barely able to make out what his friend is telling him and he stands right beside.
Unfamiliar faces crowd his vision and the noise is deafening now but he is content because it is a far cry from the solitary confinement that is his bedroom.
He and his friends are seated in a circle and he attempts to find some stability in this environment of chaos; yet he is still unable to hear what the people around him are trying to say.
Kids yelling and running around as if the world was ending tomorrow.
Desperation on the surface but underneath it all, courage.
Unafraid of the day that is to come, and content with the days that have already passed.
He observes that they are simply living in the present frame and not a shot too early or too late; the perfect picture not because of its composition but rather its purpose. The story behind the photograph, the development, and preservation of a precious memory in such a fleeting moment.
Bodies flash by and voices are blended into the soundscape of a scene that seems to stop time.
He is there in the midst of it all.
Somewhere hidden in the background, past the grains and leaks of light, a figure is standing.
The clock starts ticking and a photograph begins moving.
The room darkens, the audience quiets down - a film in motion.
totus tuus
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