(Excerpted from a fictional piece)
Travelling through Europe, at one point, I was very close to the home of Leica. The train trudged along. Earlier I had passed by a shop with the huge Red Dot. Just months ago, I would have known nothing about this or the camera. Patiently you had taught me about the "additional micro contrast" the "soft look" and just the ethereal magic of a Lecia glass. Would I be able to know a Leica image if I saw one? Maybe not. Yet I now knew what to look out for.
The train had a steady metronome. I closed my eyes. Missing you. For everything you mean to me. Not some kind of puppy love. Middle-aged woman don't suffer puppies or love.
Cameras were your lifeline. You knew obscure details about obscure brands and models. You said, there is something human about wanting to trap time. Imprison the this. Now.
How do I capture you forever? I would gladly buy a fucking expensive Leica if I could even trap a peice of you. (Leica M - was that not always in your dream list?)
Ironic- some things were never meant to be na, though?
Red dot be damned. My life is a complete mess. Fuckpool.
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