Miracle

Originally Posted Friday, February 28, 2014

Here's another of those fabulous photos from the 1850s.  This might be Nadar's; I'm not sure.  Whatever. . . it is beautiful.  I want a studio with natural light so that I may have light as soft as this.  Paris is said to have the best light, then further into southern France.  Could it be true? Could the light be better there?  I am willing to try it out. 

There are miracles everywhere you turn in life, and if you are lucky, you will notice.  And. . . they will break your heart.  I met a miracle tonight, but she cannot be mine.  She is too young, of course.  Youth is one miracle.  And she is in love, and love is another.  I took her and her boyfriend to dinner tonight, and knowing how naive they are and how naive there love is, I still could not help but envy the thing I know that they are feeling.  They are feeling that, right?  Love, I mean, the way I feel it?  They get tingly and hold hands and feel that they are the only ones to ever have passion as great as that. . .  right?  No matter how nice the boy is, I would kill him and dump him in a lake if I thought it would get me the miracle, too.  Jesus, that is the only miracle there is.  What so-called miracle can compare to that?  Living through a plane crash doesn't come close.  Nothing does.  Boys are boys and don't mean shit, but when she smiles. . . .

You will see her, and you will know her when you do.  It will be a photograph, and it will be a miracle. 

But this photograph is a miracle, too.