color shifts

and so with the wind pushing against my back i peer, wide-eyed and estranged, into coffee shop windows with people smiling happily, smiling selflessly (or maybe smiling selfishly) and jealous? maybe i am because they, much like their lives, look like jewels.

but i could never sit still,,, i keep picturing myself with my tattered brown bag with too many airline tags and duct-tape running around each corner, meeting at the top in a gray line that holds six seven eight-thousand memories and i am nowhere and everywhere at the same time. i want the squeaky beds and floral wallpapers, languages i don't understand and cultures i know nothing of except for the comparisons i create in my head between them and spain, from what i've read in travel catalogs and my mother's book collection. i am tracing the passage of the sun, and so, respectively, the moon's, on pieces of broken glass in the gutters with my thumb as i sit on curbs and watch a society's progression to mad. lost. i love being lost. i had fallen two meters deep into sand but am now finally picking the concluding grains out of my converse. it's less about you than it has ever been, it's supposed to be nice, but it's an unusual relief.

is there a difference between photographing a scene for a memory versus for art? thought process? well, it looked like a memory photo but the value ranges were good and the thought killed me.

my eyes taste like summer but the sky shakes its head no.