With a click of a lens I’m a historian, unknowingly.
I log history as it develops, winding film mechanically as I prepare for another scene to unwind. I catch history as and before it happens, tracking it with a clunky viewfinder, glass faded and chipped from my vicarious living.
It records what I see, and what I don’t notice, unwittingly.
Tattered around the edges like my minds eye pulling itself into focus as I try to reminisce so many times that my image seems distorted.
With a click of my lens I’m a historian, preserving that which is beautiful, and that which is not, to ensure the safety of what I fixate upon.

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