The Perfect Snapshot

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The monochrome silhouette of night rushes into dawn. Dawn resists, buying moments for sleep before it has to stretch out over the face of earth. In those fleeting moments, a star dies in the sky, slowly. The last of them has been put out. The moon has been wrapped carefully and hidden. All evidence that there once was night has vanished. For now, it is just mayhem. Venus’ chariot races out of a hidden palace in the horizon, with tails of crimson following the steeds that draw it. Slowly the attack of colour pushes the dark away and pink, the sky awakes. Morning screams, not in ears but in eyes, and glows bright and golden until every inch of God’s green earth is pinched with light.

His eyelids flutter.

He yawns and sighs to the gentle rhythms of another daybreak. Slowly, he is reborn. From a day passed to a day awaiting, his slate is cleared and his mind pushes thoughts to begin motion. He staggers to his feet, pushing himself into morning mode: that automacity of brushing and bathing and grooming and finding himself at the breakfast table like yesterday and the day before. But today he pauses, to lean against the window at the far end of the room. The smell of gladiolas wifts in from eight floors below. Very thin, a smile begins to appear. I watch with bated breath, as morning truly unfolds… with his smile, a heavenly smile. Lyres play in my ears, riddled with laughter from beautiful memories dancing past delights into remembrance, happiness soars, eyes gleam.. as everything, everything becomes rosy. He smiles.

I reach for the camera, hoping and praying the moment lasts long enough. I fill the lens with everything I see. He is still standing, unaware of what is about to happen. And in that second, snap. That moment has been frozen forever.

What memory may so cruelly dwindle into oblivion, what tragedy might one day take away from me, this snapshot would preserve. This snapshot would hold.

A perfect eighteen megapixel, of a perfect person on a perfect morning. This is my utopia.


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