to have a fate of comparing                 s n a pshot          t o                                      snap s h o t.

to see our every inch of pore, lash, and skin with such intimate     and violent    clarity.                            when has fortune won if not now?

our eyes were destined to dream. they were made to see others in blinding color and light    and now,                            they have learned to p a r t reality down to a

picture.                                                   And anger over every inch of it.

the beauty of the eye comes from its gaze. we were meant to tell the earth it was beautiful and have it echoed back to us.

h e a r i n g  the trees  and s e e i n g  the forest.

Finding that a mirror, an image,  

could not give the world due justice. 

 That under the fray and branches, there exists a peace; the solace. 

what a dream it would be, to forget how    to    see      in      this      way. 

what a dream it would be,                 to    back   away   from    the     glass. 

what a dream it would be,               for   these     snapshots    to    move            in      blinding      motion         again.