the photographer

Just pondering some about time and the sense of it and the lack of it.

She would hover if she could.

“You have a home don’t you, I mean a house? Where?” And he replied “yes”, smiling, a little proud perhaps, and told her where, and then went on about how he and his wife renovated it four years ago and that it was time to paint the living room again but they didn’t seem to find the time and she zoned out but not for long and added “bet it’s nice” and “didn’t I hear […]

Do you remember when you went to bed early before you forgot

Many years ago, years ago..

"Good, thanks. And you?"

He doesn’t even like spruces. What’s that? He puts a lot of of effort into not liking spruces instead of concentrating on the ones that do attract him like pine, especially the crooked ones, and cedar, he really loves cedar. Pine smells so good. Red cedar. He never saw a cedar though, not properly. Not the tree, only the wood. It’s beautiful, the wood, he remembers. Remembers. The colour variations were both subtle and abrupt, […]

Then trying to find words to describe the tent, some that are tolerable but they’re all disgusting. Even if they’re just regular words. Like white and.. No.

“Recovery can take place only within the context of relationships” she said; “it cannot occur in isolation.” Here is where to contemplate whether to dissociate and joke about if she has not been to the woods yet or—borrowing internet speak—let it sink in.

The laptop screen goes black after a while and it’s black and shiny much like a mirror and he sees himself no sees the image he has gotten used to and knows resembles his appearance and fiddles with the idea that it is a stranger someone he has never met before and wonders who it is and how he got there and where he is going where all this is going and the answers there […]