goofygoober168's profile

seeing the world through your camera-- the lens through which you view your world-- shows me so much more than what you've seen, where you've been, who you've loved. seeing your memories along with the stories that come with each image, each new face draws me further into that inner place kept hidden from yourself, from everyone. seeing your self-portraits, the ones you never like because you can't see yourself, even though that man is the same one you see reflected back to you in the mirror...

seeing the world through your camera-- the lens through which you view your world-- shows me so much more than what you've seen, where you've been, who you've loved. seeing your memories along with the stories that come with each image, each new face draws me further into that inner place kept hidden from yourself, from everyone. seeing your self-portraits, the ones you never like because you can't see yourself as i do, even though that man is the same one you see reflected back to you in th...

seeing the world through your camera-- the lens through which you view your world-- shows me so much more than what you've seen, where you've been, who you've loved. seeing your memories along with the stories that come with each image, each new face draws me further into that inner place you've kept hidden from yourself, from everyone. seeing your self-portraits, the ones you never like because you can't see yourself as i do, even though that man is the same one you see reflected back to you...

her hand brushes mine and the centuries fall away, taking with them the memories, distant and faded, of other lives, with all their mistakes bundled up in messy, string-tied packages—the baggage of failed attempts at perfection. perhaps this is the day she’ll realize that true perfection lies in the acceptance of imperfection. with promises, kisses, slight and tender touches, they tell the the stories—the chronicles of things nobody can disprove from outside   &n...

      I couldn't help but laugh as Ruth Anne's keys jingled in my pocket as I walked down the narrow aisle to my seat. Sliding over to the window opposite where her car was parked, I shoved my bag halfway under the seat, trapping it between my feet. I leaned against the window, which was cool on my forehead despite the heat hanging in the dry New Mexico air. My last look at Tatum—for a moment I wished I could keep the place and just leave the people behind. Too ...