August 21, 2011

Some parts of my life are like an overexposed photograph. Like a too-wide aperture resulting in a too-bright photograph, sometimes so much light is shed that some of the details are lost in the image. Sure, the light is soft and the focus is clear, but the sun carries off the defining edges and gives the photograph a more distant, or fainter feel. It’s like hearing the voice from the other side of the bed, whispering to you when you are half asleep. These images, these sounds, they are surreal, almost ethereal in their softness. The moments that leave me floating in the ether are gentle moments; they are moments reminiscient of her voice on the phone that I hide under the pillow when I hear my mother awake, his fingers picking guitar strings as beautifully as my grandfather does, the tranquility that exists when you return my smile as we kick off hot sheets and roll over in the bed for another hour of sleep.

I want the sweet softness of overexposure to flood my life and make me into a peaceful person. I want my eyes to be the bright, warm light that distracts you from the littler details. I want all of the tentativeness and tension that lives in me to disappear, so that I can be inviting enough to keep you here, clipped off in the shutter with me in a single, soft, happy frame.