I take photos of everyone I know, every time I can.
I live in constant fear that when they are gone, they will exist only in my head as the feeling of them, their smell, their presence, their clothes, but I’ll forget their faces and their voices. Oh god, their voices....
I remember this beach, it wasn’t too hot but the sun was low and we had to squint, and I remember him running crazy, god was he crazy, trying to turn left and right at the same time as we threw his ball between us, his never ending battle with the seagulls who flew and laughed at him, then settled straight back down. He showered me in water and I couldn’t be angry, and we only stopped when my arm couldn’t throw anymore.
It’s a cliché, but he smelled of wet dog and he fell asleep the moment we got in, at my feet, and even when I was bursting, I held it in, ach, let the dog sleep.
We had to wash him to get the salt water out, and he wouldn’t get in the bath, oceans no bother, but baths – away with you, baths are scary.
He’s the reason I take photos now, to fill in that shadow shape of emotions with a single face.
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