I know this because:
He feels about photographs the way other people crave coffee in the morning. It's the rush and sharpening of senses. A chemical feeling surfing bloodstreams. A sense of hunt/stalk and capture.
And, oh! The day she saw you walking up the hill. That was a photograph waiting to happen. You were wheeling your bicycle along the side walk with one hand. Because the other was holding flowers for the girl you'd stared at from the back of the class all the week. And you were blushing because you were passing other travelers who smiled and knew where you were going. They could tell from the sense of anticipation you were breathing out. She still thinks about it and wonders if she could convince her friend to pose. Could it be recreated or was the story all your own?
Don't wait for me. I mean it. I don't think we're meant to hold hands. The next life, maybe, we'll dance that dance. It's awful confusing knowing I've met your soul before. Spin spin spin baby. Let the heavens tu