Yesterday it stormed. Big time. Driving was scary. God was crying, having a massive bowling match and someone up there was taking pictures.
As I left my parking garage from work, heater blasting, soaked to the bone, because I still have it in me that I just don’t need an umbrella, I saw an Asian couple donned in wedding attire at the corner of Hawaii Theater. It was 7:08 pm, and the lightning and rain flashing and pouring down reminded me of something out of a movie. My driving slowed to a crawl and I stared slack jawed, wishing I had a camera because it was just so pretty and poetic in the way that contrasts often are.
I remember once seeing a photo of a young girl holding a flower in the forefront, behind her, the chaos from a plane crash. There was something haunting about it, something appealing, and something distasteful and visceral. I stood there for a good half an hour entranced, eyes going back and forth from her eyes and the wreckage behind her. Till this day, I still don’t know exactly what I felt about it, but I remember it clearly a decade later.
As I drove past this couple I yearned for my camera, and sent out a silent wish their way. I hoped they were the type of couple that would find fun and humor in their predicament; that there would be just as much beauty in their moment, as I was observing from my window view. Then I turned to my right, and saw two photographers calling out directions from across the street, and the feel of the whole scene changed. The mysterious allure faded, and after a split second of reconciling that I wasn't observing an authentic moment, I quickly shifted to feeling stoked for the artists across the street. My wishes went their way- that they would get their shot… and that I would see it someday in the future... and know.
