To Truths Photographed, and Dreams Painted.

Nestled in the dim light of an eclipsed moon, with soft terrains of willows casting a litany of shadows, I reminisce an era of perceptual possibilities. A lifetime; of dreams forsaken and milestones unmet. I relive, the story of us. The journey we embarked upon, with hearts in unison but visions deviated.

The journey, with a primal beginning, and bifid ending.

I rummage through your revered collection of moments. Snippets so fondly captured in crisp photographs, while I lay my own simulacra of color smeared images and charcoal dusted sheets, alongside. We were artificers, with skills in accord with our visions. You, the realist; and I, the idealist.

I fondly gaze at the first photograph in your album. The warmth of an opulent autumn eve, and the rustle of the leaves, I could still hear admixed with our sweet whispers of love. The fire struck embers of a mahogany sky, and a blissfully somnolent sun, falling into a slumber of zeal. How we had both ached to surmount that moment, to forever be able to live in it. And so we did. You, with a click, and I, with a brushstroke; had it all captured, complete and conquered.

Today, as my eyes explore the depth of our perceptions, languishing in a one-dimensional field of salvation. I still feel the warmth of that autumn eve, emanating from the gold tincture, sprawled across the heavenly semblance of a terrene figment. My heart basks in that mellow breeze for a moment longer, as I relive each hue of my oil stained portrait. My soul shudders, as I rest my gaze upon the photograph you took of our musing. Statuesque and sublime; a true memoir of nature’s divinity. So vaguely rouge, fading into the kohl of a malevolent sky.

You captured the end of the day; I painted the promise of tomorrow.

I find the images of a moonlit sky. The sky we lay beneath for countless hours, caught in a whirlwind of celestial dreams. The stars we had pledged upon, and the moon, our witness. I remember the unfathomable stillness in the air, as you captured the orb of the night in a sheer monochrome, while I preserved that moment on my canvas.

As I run my fingers over the craters of the moon, transcending into an ageless fable of longing, and gaze upon the regally beryl sky… I still feel my heart pledged to yours. I still hear the hum of our vows resounding, from the asteroid figurines blanched in paint. I cautiously shift gaze to your capture of the night, serene and dark. How immaculately you cajoled the stillness of that moment, with no stir of emotion. No echoes of promise.

Do you remember our quiet saunters on the shell-studded shores? The trails we had left for our hearts to retrace, the ambles of our souls against the torrents of time. Our names we had written in the sand and rejoiced, as waves swept past, only to shuffle the chronology of letters and carry them into one timeless tide.

That painting I hold so dear to my heart, of moments akin to grains of sand, slipping through the interlock of our fingers. The ocean lying placid beneath the skies, a similitude of our love; boundless and immortal. I leaf through the album to find that moment, fondly held captive by the sleight of your hands. The flawless ocean, the sun kissed sands… but where is the love I had rendered immortal?

Do you remember our last moments of togetherness, in the dark hours at the train station? I still feel the coldness of the masonry we had leaned upon, the crunching of gravel beneath our feet, and the frigid inertia in the air. You had looked into my eyes and we exchanged a world of words, with nothing said. We lived a lifetime and grew old together… in that instant of silence. Had we latently known? What was there in that moment, would never again be…

I remember drawing rail tracks in winding circles and with them, the imprints of trains departed, mingled with the anticipation of those to return. The dawns to ascend upon the latitude of trails, paralleling into the reticence of nights.

Yes, we were to return to each other, for we knew no place else, in any time zone or station in this universe. And return it did with the light of the day, among whistles and smokes, upon tracks illuminated; only without you. How was our journey to complete, without that one last photograph, hence you sent it my way. The trailing fragment of infinity, depicting darkness and egress.

You captured the nights of departure; I painted the dawns of arrival.

Such was the disparity in our visions. We dwelled at different points within the vast realm of perceptual possibilities, commencing with the archaic truth and culminating into the myriad facets visualized through dreams. You prevailed within the confines of actuality, while I permeated beyond the purview of realism to behold the viability in dreams.

Our two perceptual worlds, could never become one.