05 February 2020

4//365


Untitled

once

I lost a polaroid portrait of ava in chinatown, somewhere between pell and mott street, I think. She'd stood at the mouth of doyers while sunlight sliced through buildings behind her, turned to look at me and, I made the picture. and then let out a long, slow breath like I do when I think something might be good.

I dumped my bags upside down that night, I couldn't believe it was gone. I have never lost a polaroid, never. ever. I wonder if someone stopped to pick it up. if they took it home, tacked it up on the wall. if they make up stories about it. I wonder if it'll eventually end up at the fleamarket in a box with all the other found photographs. 

I wonder if I remember her more vividly in that moment precisely because I lost the polaroid. 

these are all things I wonder.

1 comment:

  1. I so get this. There are a couple times I can remember not having a camera when I desperately wanted one, and I tried to press the moment as vividly as possible into my mind...and it worked.

    I have never lost an instant photo, but this is what I was saying when I lost a journal last September. "I have never lost a journal, never ever." (Miraculously, I was only two pages in.)

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