maybe memories.

i do wonder why i don't take great pleasure in photographs. the still frames of lucid moments frozen in a glacial standstill. life, in a lifeless presentation. i walk. the blinds of potassium iodide flashes explodes in a frenetical excitement. it was a firefight exchange of moments for mnemonic sanctity.

sang froid

precious seconds fossilised in gloss prints. many have asked why the mere blankness of it all. is it numbness, or inability to fathom feelings for the moment? i cannot answer. i only know why i am not enthusiastic about it.

si vous plait

when i hold scraps of memories, burned into the mind, that is where i feel alive. fossils of moments may conjure deadness, but the scraps of memories, even if they were off someone's table; those are the ones that need the most holding on to. they are the most precious. still frames do not move. they only bring to you the glacial moments that you knew that you breathed. but that is all.

maybe memories. everything, can be changed.