and the lie
There are fleeting moments of wonder which you are desperate to hold onto. You try to capture them in a memory, photograph, poem, song or keepsake. But you know by trying to do this you will waste the moment, devalue it somehow. And so you must allow yourself to experience it, then merely recall it, once it has passed. You come across such a moment from someone else that they have, seemingly, managed to capture. It stings you like a bee in your mouth. You feel the delicious poisoned beauty of it pushing with a viscous pressure through those emotional parts that you cannot name, let alone know, like a phlebotomist working on you in reverse. How have they managed this you wonder? What trick has been magiced? Until you realise that there was no moment for them. It is just a lie, but one which you’ve employed.
Photograph taken in Pisa, Italy 2017 on a Nikon f80
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