These grainy stills are from a movie I took recently, a movie that does something a photograph cannot: capture these small, liquid moments. I'm too busy being a stumbling, imperfect father to realize that he can see things we can no longer grasp, angels in the architecture, souls in those plastic dingetjes hanging from the lamp in his room, poetry in his grasp. Do you remember how old you were before you lost the ability to feel and wonder?
I can't love with more ache and confusion than when I see his face.
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