sometimes i carry the camera. sometimes it is only weight. either way, it keeps me looking.

i don’t chase meaning. it doesn’t come that way. it shows itself, if at all, in smaller things. light resting where it can. two people sitting with nothing left to say, and not leaving. time moving through everything, steady, taking what it will and not returning it.

i don’t try to make anything important. that closes it. i stay, or try to. most of what matters does not announce itself. it waits. most days, it goes unnoticed and is gone.

there is a stillness. not empty. just unspoken. a corner in the afternoon. a window holding the last of the light. someone waiting, their body giving more away than their face. nothing happens. still, it remains for a moment.

the camera lets me stay a little longer. not to take. not to keep. only to notice. sometimes there is a photograph. often there isn’t. it does not feel like a loss. it feels closer to the truth of it.

there is no statement. only a habit of looking. a quiet respect for what does not last. it does not belong to me. it never did.

and sometimes, without reason, something clears. not because of me. in spite of me. long enough to be seen as it is before it disappears again.