This is a photograph of being in love.
It’s a picture of a feeling in a moment.
It’s a record of a time when the whole world came alive.
I took it from inside a girl’s convertible.
She came and picked me up and she drove me around. Somewhere along the way the top came down. I remember looking over and seeing her smiling.
It was about the best thing of all time.
A whole lot happened in the years before this photo. And a whole lot has happened since. I’m not saying that this was the greatest moment of my life. But if I had to pick one to live in, it’d be this.
I don’t even know where this photo was taken. Where we were then in space or time. At this point I was just snapping photos upward, blind. Of the buildings, the lights, the sky.
I don’t know if that’s a wall there or if it’s a bus. I don’t know if we’re in a tunnel or if that’s a streetlight.
Out of frame, she’s beside me and our future is ahead.
Or at least, so it seemed at the time.
I don’t think I’d ever been in a convertible before, except my grandma’s when I was young and the top stayed up. I don’t know how come it took so long for me to get inside one.
I don’t know when the next will come along.
The idea is to describe this photo in a thousand words. But I’m stopping here at a quarter that. There’s no way to go on; that’s the problem with a photograph:
You can stop time, but you can’t bring the future back.