So close. That is what I used to think, when I looked at your photographs. So close to being perfect- dozens of images of still life in fading afternoon sun, portraits of strangers in train stations and fast food booths-- faces of boredom and exhaustion and joy. So close.
I always felt you were on the edge of capturing the image-- almost there, but not quite.
No, I never told her this. Would it have made any difference? I doubt it. She threw her pictures at me- I threw my words at her and then we drifted apart.
A dramatic exit was not called for and did not arrive.
You never held it at the right angle, You never held it at the right
angle, Catch a, catch a, catch a, catch a falling star, Because you can't hold it.