Every once in awhile, I revisit the pain of that day. I remember what it felt like to return to school, putting my head down with my arms across my desk multiple times per day. I pretended to feel ill as an excuse to go home.
Last night, I tossed and turned for hours, teetering between pain and contrition. Contrition came before the pain. I reflected upon a finite set of events in my life which caused me to feel guilt. I am a mental hoarder in a terrifying way. I will punctiliously recall events in my life over and over again, rethinking and dissecting where I went wrong. Did this obsessive behavior begin on that singular day? Maybe it was so unbelievable that I took it upon myself to memorize the details in hopes of making some sort of logical sense.
Lying and guilt are a funny pair of companions as generally the only way to remove the guilt is to come clean. Consequently, the subject of the lie becomes the recipient of this burden and thus is now the carrier of this bag of stones.
In a forlorn and futile attempt to connect these thoughts to my photos, I have found a modicum of a connection. The connection is perhaps, quite indecently, the connection. I look for all of the double exposures of the real world where the main object of focus mimics the details of which it has possession. I am growing quickly bored of this post.