Silver hugging celluloid forms my memories of the past three months.
It's funny to think that when I die, my children will find these negatives that tell the story of my life more eloquently than ever I could. They will wonder what I did during those nights in the heart of Stockholm and imagine their father in the background behind the lens.
They will wonder at these negatives just as I wondered at them when I pulled them from the developing spool and marveled at the images that manifested themselves, images still dripping wet and slippery with photoflo.
These memories, these moments imprinted on silver hugging celluloid, that is why I still make pictures. To remember that which I couldn't remember otherwise. To embody the beauty of things and people that are forever fleeting and seeking their freedom.
But now I'm drunk again, and I need to sleep.
Leica M4-P / Minolta-Rokkor-M 28/2.8 / HP5+ @ 1600