You are a photographer. Not just one, but quiet a famous one. And you take me to your house to show me your collection of photos. I look at each in excitement. Excitement that wishes to hide away in eyes. You saw it? No?! My lips slightly apart, I am lost in your world of images.
Our minds converse with each other and I begin:
‘These aren’t pictures.’
‘Hmm..So what are these?’
‘Some are images of my thoughts.’
‘Is that all?’
‘And some…some are images of our relativeness.’